Blind Faith
by Punny GEM
Summary: Sequel to Blind Man's Bluff. Jack suspects his recurrent nightmare is actually a memory of unforgivable things done to - and by - him. A string of minor betrayals leaves him feeling alone, unable to trust. Will the final test be too much for him?
1. Chapter 1

Awareness came gradually, old habit keeping his body still as his mind groggily sorted out where he was. His mouth softened into a smile as he remembered. His first night home and he had fallen asleep on the couch. It was comfy enough -- he'd been sure to buy one that was good for sleeping -- and one of his friends had covered him with a warm blanket. He nestled there, drowsing contentedly in the combined warmth of blanket and friendship. It was good to have friends.

_When I open up my eyes, I will lose you_

He froze at the words, suddenly cold. No! This was real. When he opened his eyes, he would still be here, still home, still safe.

So why didn't he just open them? What was he supposed to do? Hide under his blanket forever?

_Forever's too good to be true._

Stop it! Who was saying those things? Somebody make it stop!

He clenched the blanket in his fists, eyes screwed tight shut, heart pounding. The blanket? Feel the blanket? The bad guys wouldn't have given you a blanket.

Unless it was part of another mind game.

No! He railed inwardly at the doubts, the fear that this was another trick. He was home. Safe. Feel the couch? Soft beneath you, not like a hard floor. And the cushions against your back? Never even had a wall in those last weeks, unless you count the sharp stuff they'd occasionally surrounded you with. Take a look. This is home.

_When I open up my eyes, I will lose you_

No! Not true. The nightmare was over, he was home. No hands tied. He cautiously wiggled his fingers; yep, one hand beneath his head, the other at his chest. He couldn't tell if he was blindfolded; the thing had been on for so long it was nearly a part of him.

_When I open up my eyes, I will lose you_

Wait. If he had the blindfold on, he couldn't open up his eyes. Nothing to lose, then. Still fighting the fear, and telling himself it was irrational, he held his breath and tentatively tried to raise his eyelids.

His living room appeared before him, dimly lit from the streetlight outside, and he sighed with relief. Taking a deep breath, he sat up, pulling the blanket around his shivering body. He rose and looked out the window into the yard. Nothing illuminated the darkness. Checked the driveway. Empty. They must have left after he fell asleep.

_I'm out here in the dark. All alone and wide awake._

What? The words weren't a dream. They were real; some horrible song playing on his stereo. Even the voice was familiar, someone he used to know and trust, taunting him now, hurting him. The song was a nightmare all in itself, tailor-made to bring back the memories; the pain, the fear, and the broken hope of rescue.

_I'm empty and I'm cold. And my heart's about to break. Come and find me._

Enough already! He stormed across the room and flung open the cd player door to stop the awful words. He grabbed the disc, determined to send an anonymous hate letter, or maybe an anonymous grenade, to the villainous singer. It was┘ Winnie the Pooh.

He stared at it. Couldn't be. Winnie the Pooh? Winnie didn't sing stuff like that. He sang nice things, happy things. And yet, it had been the traitorous bear's own voice singing those painful words.

_Traitorous bear? You're losing it, O'Neill._ He stared at the cd. Winnie's cheerful face smiled happily back at him. Every kid's favorite stuffed animal. Never noticed what beady little eyes he has. He rolled his own eyes at the stupid thought, and put the disk back in its little case.

Where had the disc come from, anyway? Not his collection, that was for sure. Oh, yeah. Cassie had given it to him. Cassie. He remembered how embarrassed the girl had been. She had told him in confidence that Janet had put her up to it; had pressed Cassie to give Jack the cd. Janet said it had soothed Cassie when she had first come to Earth, but Cassie herself didn't remember.

Janet.

Janet had wanted him to listen to this?

He let Cassie put it on just before she left. It must have been playing that horrid song over and over as he slept.

For the first time in days, he hadn't had the dream, the current box-office hit of the nightmare realm. Instead, he had dreamed that the rescue itself was the dream, that he was still a prisoner wishing that his team would

_Come and find me._

The words, in Winnie's plaintive voice, sounded again in his mind and he shivered. He should go to his bed, get warm, but he knew there'd be no more sleep tonight.

What time was it, anyway? 04:00. Barely morning, really.

_But when the morning comes, And the sun begins to rise, I will lose you. Because it's just a dream_

No, he reminded himself firmly. It's not a dream. This is really home. If only that god-awful song would stop running through his mind.

_I'm empty and I'm cold. And my heart's about to break._

Empty and cold. That I can fix. He started a pot of coffee, drumming his fingers and looking at the walls as he waited. There was nothing to do here. Nothing that he felt like doing, anyway. He held the hot cup with both hands, warming his fingers. Maybe a shower would warm him up the rest of the way. He headed upstairs, mug still in hand.

The water was warm, but it stung his still-raw skin like a hail of razors. Ok, _there_ was a memory he didn't need right now. He was finished and out in record time, stopping the flow of the tiny liquid knives with a triumphant flourish. If only he could remove their big brother so easily. That big honking dagger Special Ops had plunged into his back when they tricked him into their deathtrap. It was still there, its wound festering in his heart.

He had been trying to ignore it, or imagine it away. But it seemed like every time he relaxed, even a little bit, someone would twist the knife. Not the same huge blow as your own countrymen intending to torture you to death; little betrayals, small hurtful things that built up and made sure you never had any relief. Like that song, just another twist of the blade.

Why? Why that song? Why now? _Because you relaxed, Jack_, his mind filled in. _You let your guard down and look what happened. Gotta watch your six or someone will twist that knife._

Dammit! He should be able to relax in his own house! He slammed his coffee mug into the sink angrily and it shattered. He stared at it, as unable to pick up its pieces as he was to pick up the pieces of his own broken self. Another mental image he really didn't need right now.

_Come on, O'Neill, pull yourself together_, he ordered himself. He was a veteran of psychoanalysis as much as battle; he knew all the usual routines, he should be able to handle this. Deep breath. Ok, visualization. Not a problem -- he was visualizing all over the place today. So, change the image. Visualize something else, change the bad image into something better. He drew a blank. He glared at his haggard reflection in the mirror and his own hollow eyes glared back, anger fragmenting into despair as he could think of no healing image.

He was broken inside, and he didn't know how to fix it.

He left the pieces where they were, firmly ignoring them and his feelings. Both would be easier to handle once he left them alone for a while. He dressed and went back to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee.

See? Good as new.

He complimented himself on his metaphor, blowing a mental raspberry at the part of his own mind that kept dredging up the uglier images. At least all this fascinating mental imagery must have filled up a couple hours of the day; it sure felt like a long time had gone by. Maybe it was late enough that someone else would be around to talk to.

04:23. Great. All dressed up and nowhere to go. He decided he might as well head in to work early, grimacing at the thought; his day was scheduled to start with an exam to check how he was healing. He drove slowly in, taking the long way, killing time.

He flipped the radio on. Any song would do, just to get that evil tune out of his head.

_"...that's all it takes to-o-o-o_

_Completely break you"_

Argh! He stabbed the next pre-set button.

_"...have betrayed me_

_I thought I'd die Why? All the reasons still evade me"_

He snapped the radio off angrily; he didn't even want to hear the next words to that one.

And they wondered why he listened to opera.

He wished he could listen to some now; it would relax him as he drove the empty early-morning roads to the base. But of course, the cd player was gone, along with his truck, the other victim of his unfortunate "demise." He hadn't had time yet to go and buy a new one, and the borrowed Mustang didn't have a cd player. Didn't have leg room either, for that matter. His right knee collided with the keys whenever he had to switch between the brake and gas pedals.

Taking a curve much too fast, especially for the little two-wheel drive car, he skidded toward the embankment. He struggled with the wheel, fighting to get the vehicle back on the road. It slid perilously close to the edge -- not a good thing on these winding mountain roads.

With a sigh of relief, he got it straightened out and slowed down. Calm down, Jack, he told himself. Drive reasonably, with no music. Just get there. What was it they said? Put a smile on your face and you'll start to feel happier?

He clenched his teeth into a semblance of a grin as he neared the base. The guard at the entrance stepped forward, then back a half-step when he saw Jack. Guess the smile thing wasn't working too well. The man gave him a couple of sidelong glances as he checked his credentials and looked relieved when he waved him on in.

He closed the car door, trailing his hand gently along the side of the car as he walked around it. The metal felt smooth to his touch; hopefully the bushes he'd scraped along that curve hadn't scratched the shiny almond paint. He couldn't be sure in the pre-dawn gloom; he'd have to come back later to find out if he'd have to send it to get fixed.

_But when the morning comes, and the sun begins to rise, I will lose you_

He was going to use Winnie the Pooh for target practice one day. Soon.

04:57.

"You're in early today, Colonel," the security guard commented as he signed in.

"Yeah. You're just about done for the day, aren't you, sergeant?" Maybe he could kill a minute or ten here.

"Yep! Home for a nap, then off to school with the kids. It's 'Field Day' today, and I'll be judging the water-balloon toss." He smiled at the officer before him. "You got kids, Colonel?"

Twist went the knife in his back.

"A son." He had promised himself never to deny Charlie's existence, but that didn't mean that he wanted to get into details with the night watchman. He pushed the clipboard back at the man, preparing to continue on into the base.

The man didn't notice, or didn't react to, the gesture. "Ever play catch with him?"

Ouch. Definitely time to retreat. "Yep. Gotta go, sergeant. Have a ball at Field Day."

05:04. He stared at his desk, not really seeing the paperwork. He was thinking about his physical. Not the exam itself so much, though it certainly wasn't his favorite pastime. Seeing her again. Especially after last night's Winnie the Pooh concert. And then there was that dream, the one he kept having. He shuddered to think of those hands, her hands, on him.

Wait. The order was to be examined. Not specifically to be examined by her. He headed for the infirmary.


	2. Chapter 2: Memories

oOo Chapter 2: Memories

He didn't manage to avoid her entirely. She came in as he was leaving.

"Morning, Colonel," she said brightly. "Just give me a minute and I'll be right with you." She started toward her office.

"Take your time. I'm already done." He took two more steps toward freedom, hoping she would just leave it at that.

"What do you mean?"

"Got in early. Dr. Smith checked me out." He had been so grateful to the new doctor that he hadn't even thought of waving his arms and intoning 'Danger Will Robinson.' He headed on out the door, leaving her watching after him. Even his next stop, a lovely chat with the house shrink, was better than staying here.

She walked slowly to her office. Locked the door behind her. She couldn't pretend anymore. He was avoiding her. She had been so worthless on the rescue mission that he couldn't stand to be near her. She dropped into her chair and thought about all the mistakes she had made in the eight days it had taken to obtain the Colonel and get him home.

She had screwed up right from the beginning. Sam had laid out the plan ahead of time. The delivery-boy would bring their purchase √ the Colonel √ they would confirm that he was alive, and move out as soon as the delivery-boy was out of sight with his cash. The Colonel had arrived in the guise of an old woman in a wheelchair. Perfect, in Sam's opinion, as they could roll him right back out of the room as soon as the coast was clear. But Janet had been so angry to see that the Colonel was bound to the chair that she had insisted on releasing him immediately. Mistake number one of many.

The Colonel hadn't known who they were and had fought them. Not only were they delayed, but Daniel had to explain the commotion to the innkeeper. They had had to tie the Colonel back up, which couldn't have done any good for his mental state, until Teal'c convinced the poor man that he was safe. After all that, the Colonel had been unable to walk far and had been forced to put the burkha disguise back on and get back into the wheelchair. Janet was still haunted by the look on Sam's face as she apologetically told the Colonel he'd have to use it. And the one on the Colonel's face as he resolutely made his way back to the chair he'd been prisoner in for two full days. It would have been far better if they had left him in it for just a little while longer and then let him out once and for all.

All that delay had given the delivery-boy time to sell their location. The Russian who had been outbid at the auction had turned up at the hotel and attempted to steal what he had been unable to buy. Fortunately, he had not had time to gather reinforcements. Teal'c and Daniel and Sam had fought them off, but it had been close. If they hadn't been so surprised at the 'Arabic' woman Sam fighting with them, the Russians might well have won.

Yep, she'd screwed up and the others had had to fix the mess. But could she stop with one mistake? Of course not. Dressed as an Arabic woman, and forgetting Daniel's warnings on behavior, she had put her hand on an airport workman's arm to get his attention. Women in that country were not permitted to touch a man other than a direct relative. And it was not a trivial issue, either. Things had quickly deteriorated despite Daniel's best efforts to talk to the man. They were going to be turned over to security, if not the police. This time it was the Colonel himself who fixed her blunder. She shivered, hearing again the tired, shaky old voice coming from under the Colonel's veil. Jack had pretended to be their ailing grandmother. Daniel wouldn't tell her what the ancient whispery old-lady voice had said, but it had been enough to convince the offended man to send his companion off to get a female worker. Teal'c had promptly disabled the remaining man and they had made a run for it.

With no chance of being allowed on their scheduled flight, they had stolen a little prop plane right off the runway. Sam flew while Daniel handled the radio. Teal'c sat by O'Neill's side, his quiet inscrutable self. It was a long and quiet flight. After they landed, Daniel and Jack had had an argument. She didn't know what it was about, but she knew it was her fault, since they should have been comfortably on a commercial plane instead of running from the law. Then Daniel had been forced to use most of their cash to bribe a man to take them to the next town instead of turning them in. Which made the whole long journey sneaking from one desert town to the next, hiding from the law, literally having to beg, borrow, and steal to survive, her fault.

She had made only one more large mistake on the trip home. That lovely incident would be stark in her memory for quite a while. She could remember every word...

_"Teal'c, you take first watch, then Daniel. I'll take last."_

_"What about me?"_

_"We need you to take care of the Colonel, Janet."_

_"He's sleeping. And probably will sleep for as long as we let him."_

_"If he wakes up, he'll need you."_

_"Then I'll wake you up."_

_"No, Janet."_

_"You don't trust me, do you?" She could hardly believe her friend didn't believe in her. Daniel suddenly found his pack very interesting, which only served to add his confirmation to that assessment._

_Sam sighed and looked her in the eye. "Janet, this is a covert operation. There is no backup. You are not prepared for this."_

_She put her hands on her hips, taking her no-nonsense doctor pose. "I am a major in the air force, the same as you."_

_"I am a Colonel in the air force," came a voice from the bed. "And I'm ordering you to do what Carter says, Major Fraiser. And do it quietly; there's people trying to sleep around here." He hadn't even opened his eyes._

_"Yes, sir!" Janet snapped, not looking at either of them. She flopped down in a corner and started arranging her own blankets, jerking them angrily around. She was used to being in control, to getting respect. It didn't sit well at all for her friend to tell her she was incompetent at anything, much less the simple task of keeping watch. And the Colonel had agreed. Why had they even taken her with them? Maybe they should have taken a more military-minded medic instead._

_Sam had sighed again and started to settle in for the night herself without saying another word._

_Daniel looked around at the angry women and the exhausted Colonel and decided this wasn't going to be an evening of conversation. He smiled ruefully at Teal'c and lay down._

_And that was it, for quite a while. Unable to sleep, Janet sat up and looked around, noticing with some irritation that both Sam and Daniel had dozed off. Teal'c inclined his head in acknowledgement from his position standing near the door, handgun with silencer in hand. She didn't really want to hear his take on her incompetence, so she decided to check on her patient. She reached out to check his pulse and was snatched back by strong arms._

_"Do not!" Teal'c hissed._

_Too late. Her other hand grazed the sleeping Colonel and he moaned, shifting restlessly. Teal'c lifted the diminutive woman and set her aside without regard. "Major Carter! Daniel Jackson!" he whispered urgently._

_They woke instantly, both crouching, Sam with knife already in hand. Teal'c indicated the Colonel and they rose. Carter sheathed her knife and they lined up next to the bed, hands raised. Janet marveled at how smoothly they coordinated, and wondered how often they may have done this off-world._

_Jack was moving more now, a nightmare beginning. Carter waited for her moment, watching for him to be mostly on his back, hoping it would happen before he started making too much noise and they had to take him regardless of position. At her signal, all three pounced, pinning him instantly._

_He awoke abruptly, panicking, struggling violently against his captors. Teal'c calmly held arms and torso, while Daniel rocked as he attempted to pin his legs. Carter held his head, her hand firmly across his mouth, silencing him._

_"Sir! Colonel, it's ok. It's us!" she whispered. "Sir! Wake up!"_

_He blinked and peered up at her in the dim light. His body relaxed._

_She knew better than to trust that the wily Colonel was all the way back yet. If he was not fully aware, or worse yet, having a flashback, he could be trying to trick them. "Sir, what's your middle name?" She raised her hand a fraction from his mouth, keeping it ready to slam back down if he should yell._

_"Trouble." He saw her relieved smile. "As in, you're all in it big time if you don't let me go!"_

_She released him, and the others followed suit. Jack sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position._

_"Sorry, sir."_

_"Don't apologize, Carter. You did what you had to do." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I should apologize to you guys." Not that he actually would, but he felt he should acknowledge that he should._

_"Unnecessary. Doctor Fraiser touched you as you slept."_

_The Colonel turned his head to stare at her. She fidgeted uncomfortably. "I was just checking on you."_

_"Not in the field, Doc. Not when I'm sleeping. I could kill you!"_

_He was angry with her! How dare he? She had had enough. "You may outrank me, Colonel, but on medical matters, I am in charge." She glared at him and at Sam._

_"He's not exaggerating, you know." Daniel looked at her, then down, rubbing one arm. "He could literally kill you in his sleep."_

_Her mouth dropped open._

_"Just don't do it again, Doc." Jack closed his eyes._

_Sam followed his lead, lying back down. Daniel yawned. "I'll take watch, Teal'c. It's about time to switch anyway."_

_Teal'c inclined his head and handed Daniel the weapon. He automatically checked the load and the safety, then yawned and stretched again. Teal'c sat in the corner to kel'no'reem. No one said another word. She hadn't known what to say or do, and had just put her head in her hand, holding the front of her hair._

She realized that she was in that same pose now, here in her office. Shake it off, she told herself. No one is perfect. And not everything you did was wrong.

They had had to get creative to earn room and board as they worked their way out of the desert and to a big city. She had done her part there, even if she had kind of forced Jack to help. And she had managed to keep his myriad of wounds reasonably clean on the way √ no mean feat when you were surrounded by silky fine sand that found its way into everything.

The minute they entered the US embassy in Cairo, she had insisted on a medical exam for Jack. He had countered that they should all have one, here or at the US military base in Germany. And she had barely seen him since.

He was busy being cared for and debriefed in Egypt and Germany. Slept on the long flight to the US. And then had been wholly absorbed in more debriefings and assuring friends that he really was alive. Not that she was surprised about any of that. But she noticed that he did find time to spend with his team. She had told herself that it was only natural. They were his team, she was just his doctor.

The only time she'd really seen him was yesterday. They had arrived that morning at Cheyenne Mountain, and he had come to check his medical status. Sam was with him, waiting to take him home once she gave the word. He had joked that Sam was there to rescue him if he wasn't released immediately. Reminding them both about the fight with the Russians, he had even patted Sam on the shoulder. Janet didn't fail to notice that his first direct eye contact with her in days was as he gave an exaggerated warning that Sam was a soldier who shouldn't be messed with. The smile on his lips did not reach his eyes. A reminder that Sam was a soldier while she was not?

Janet told herself that she was just reading his body language wrong, that they were all tired. Still, it bothered her, and she wanted it resolved. Pretending that she didn't expect the whole team to escort Jack to his house, she had asked Daniel to drive her and Cassie home. Daniel had naturally invited them over to Jack's. They had stopped at Janet's on the way, and she had changed into fresh clothes. On the spur of the moment, she had put Cassie's old cd in her purse, intending it as a token of friendship.


	3. Chapter 3: Homecoming

oOo Chapter 3: Homecoming

"Colonel O'Neill, come in," McKenzie said, offering his hand to shake.

Jack held his up, palms toward the doctor, displaying the raw weals across them. "Not today, Doc."

"Of course, Colonel. Please, sit down, make yourself comfortable." McKenzie made as if to touch Jack's arm, steer him toward a chair, missing entirely as Jack stalked past and settled gingerly into a chair. McKenzie closed the door and took his own seat.

"So, Colonel, what would you like to talk about?" McKenzie was always interested in what came to his patient's mind when he asked such an open question.

"Hockey," Jack replied promptly.

"Why hockey?"

"There's a game tonight. Haven't seen one in weeks. Who do you think will win?"

"Colonel," he began patiently. "That's very interesting, and I hope your team wins. But isn't there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

"Not really."

"Colonel."

He sighed. "Can I see the team's reports?"

"Why?"

"I want to see how the great escape went."

"Don't you remember?"

"Would I ask if I remembered?"

"You don't remember anything at all?"

"Bits and pieces."

"Tell me what you remember first, then we'll see about getting you the reports. Maybe today, maybe not. It's better for your own recovery if it comes back on its own." Jack felt the knife in his back twisting with the words.

He considered. "I remember a plane. A very small, old plane. Carter was flying. To Egypt. Daniel was handling the radio. He said he was Pontius┘ the pilot!" He grinned at the memory. "You know he once told a Goa'uld that he was the Great and Powerful Oz?"

McKenzie smiled. "Go on."

"We couldn't fly all the way, so we stopped somewhere in Egypt. Daniel bribed someone to get us to the nearest city." Jack had suggested giving away the plane as the bribe, but Daniel had refused, and had used cash instead. "We changed Carter into a man, so there wouldn't be three women and two men anymore." He half-smiled. "I remember being jealous that she got to wear lighter clothes. It was really hot there. No air conditioning, either. Not that we were staying at the Ritz or anything. We were nearly broke."

He paused, remembering. "They really came through, Doc. Teal'c won a wrestling contest and paid for our room. Carter ran a shell game!" He grinned again. "Carter, gambling on the street. Who'd'a thought?"

McKenzie didn't really care so much about exactly what his patient was saying; he was paying more attention to the kinds of memories he had retained. So far, his recollection of the return trip was a pleasant adventure. Hopefully, that was how he really saw it, and not the result of blocking the reality out.

Jack was quiet now, thinking about their attempts to raise cash and get home. He had wanted to steal a car for them; he was the only one who was capable. He'd shown Daniel months ago how to hot-wire a car, but the archaeologist was not good enough at it to take the risk. And Jack was just not in good enough shape to pull it off. So he had to let Carter and Teal'c hustle for money. Teal'c did most of it; one haughty look was often enough to get a stranger to wager his strength against the big man's. Daniel was too busy translating for the rest of them to raise cash, too. Though he did use those puppy-dog eyes of his to get a free room from the innkeeper woman. And Janet┘

That part was just too mixed up and weird; even thinking about it gave him a headache. It couldn't have happened. Janet wouldn't do those things. But he was equally certain that at least some of the images were real.

"Do you remember anything else?"

"There is one thing..." he hesitated.

"Go on."

"It's kind of fuzzy, so it might be a dream..." He paused again. What the hell, he thought. It would fill the time until he could make his escape, and it wasn't anything serious. He closed his eyes. "I have this image of rolling down a hill in the wheelchair. Someone had been pushing. Running, maybe? And it got away. Carter tried to stop it." He glanced up at McKenzie. "Did you know she's a runner? Fast, even without a Goa'uld on her heels." He shrugged. "Anyway, she grabs the wheelchair, but she can't stop it. So she just hangs on and with her riding on the back, we really start going fast down that hill..." He trailed off again, unsure of whether to continue. Hoping McKenzie wouldn't make something weird out of it.

McKenzie chuckled. "Careening, is the word Dr Jackson used."

"Careening. I like that." Jack smiled, nodding his head. Good to know that was an actual memory, as he had thought. "Yep, we were 'careening' down that hill all right. Very fast. Veil flapping in the wind. The rest of the team yelling something from behind. Couldn't see a damn thing! Carter would yell 'right' or 'left' and I'd grab that wheel to control our trajectory." He looked at the legacy of that event, the friction burns still an angry red across his palms.

The session ended on that high note. Perhaps McKenzie appreciated the rarity of a pleasant session as much as Jack did.

McKenzie sat down to finish his notes after the Colonel had left. A reasonable start, hopefully opening the way for more in-depth sessions later. He wondered what the man expected to find in the team reports, when he was eventually given access to them. Clearly something he wasn't ready to ask his people about directly. Had there been an incident with one of them? McKenzie didn't recall any from the reports; verbally, the Colonel had mentioned each of his teammates with evident pleasure and pride. In fact, the only person he hadn't mentioned was Dr Fraiser.

Jack left McKenzie's office with relief, glad to have the session over. Not that it was a long reprieve; he was scheduled for daily run-ins -- er, sessions -- with the Doc. From the shrink's perspective, the sooner your 'issues' were resolved, the better. The Force, in its infinite cost-minded wisdom, had happily agreed to fast-tracking its people back to mental health. An active soldier is a happy soldier, get back on the horse that threw you, idle hands are the devil's playground, and all that. Apparently no one saw any need for a guy to have any time to think about things or decompress or anything. Oh, wait. Decompressing was for the Navy, not the Air Force.

He sighed, and pushed his office door open, stopping in surprise as that knife twisted again.

Crap.

They had done it to him. It shouldn't have been a surprise, really. He had helped do it to Daniel when Nem had brainwashed them. And now they had done it to him.

To his stuff, more accurately. His office had been cleaned out sometime after his alleged demise. Clean-up for the dead, closure for the living. He winced at the thought of someone going through all his stuff, even though it had most likely been his own team.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that they had brought back much of it. Very thoughtful, really. His pictures were back on the wall, his model fighter plane on the overly-clean desk, right next to the new coffee cup. He sat in his chair and checked out the desk drawers. Files, back in the lower drawers, albeit more organized than before. Guess there were some advantages to having your stuff cleared out. New pens, pencils, paperclips, and miscellaneous office junk in the upper right one, all primly waiting in their neat new containers.

He smiled when he opened the middle left drawer; an unopened bag of Oreos waited in place of it's half-eaten predecessor. They were even the double-stuf kind, his favorite; they really had missed him. Feeling much better, he took his new coffee cup for its maiden voyage, finding the same crusted old pot as always waiting in the cubby down the hall.

Maybe he'd leave the base a new coffeepot in his will when he died for the final time.

Back at his desk, coffee cup and pile of Oreos in their familiar places, he turned to his in-box. It wasn't nearly as full as usual. Someone, Carter probably, had finished off his pending mission reports. Some other lucky slob would have inherited the backlog of inventory and equipment reports, material requisitions, and miscellaneous quarrels that ended up there. He quickly sorted the pile, discarding the informational memos, cafeteria menus, and other junk mail as he went.

He paused, Oreo suddenly dry in his mouth, as he came to one large item.

God. How could _that_ be here? The invisible dagger stabbed cruelly into his back.

He slid his suddenly cold fingers over it as his heart sank to his toes. Why this? Why now, his first day back in the office? _As soon as he started to relax_

Put it aside for now, come back to it later, he told himself. Just like your feelings. It won't hurt quite so much when you go back to it.

He put it back in the in-box and covered it with reports to be reviewed. Taking a mouthful of coffee and a deep breath, he turned back to the rest of the pile. Business as usual, he told himself, sorting through the rest and stacking it in order in the box. Focus on the nice, neutral paperwork.

He signed off on the current week's equipment report, the only one in his box, and sent back the inventory one for being incomplete. He couldn't suppress a grin; the quartermaster would probably have a heart-attack when he saw that Jack had actually paid attention to one of his inventory reports. He read and filed each other item with exaggerated care, knowing he was just avoiding getting to the end. To _It._

Wow. He was up-to-date on his weekly paperwork. It was an odd feeling; one he hadn't had since, oh, the first week he worked here. He could actually see the sides of his in-box. Right around the edges of the last remaining item. Framing it, almost.

He wished he could fill the box back up and bury that thing.

He didn't want to look at it. Had never liked doing it. Ever. But now...

He looked away, checking his desk for anything he could call work. Something to delay the inevitable. Nothing. Not a damn thing. They had been thorough all right. There was nothing left except an Oreo and a half-inch of coffee in his mug.

Survival tactics, Jack, his mind automatically supplied. What do you have, and what do you need? I _have_ an Oreo and I _need_ a diversion. Easy one, Jack. Can't have an Oreo without a drink. Hell, maybe he'd walk all the way to the cafeteria and get a glass of milk to go with the cookie. No, cookies and milk in the cafeteria didn't quite fit the I'm-all-recovered-now image. He'd have to settle for more coffee.

He strolled slowly down the hall. Rinsed out his cup. Made a fresh pot of coffee. Slowly walked back toward his office. It used to seem like he could never make it there and back without someone asking him something. Where were the constant interruptions when he needed them?

He sat at his desk. Took a sip of coffee. Made himself look at _It_.

Looked away again.

Straightened the pictures on the wall.

Had another drink of coffee.

Ate an Oreo.

Washed it down with more coffee.

Checked the pictures in case a stray earthquake had tilted them in the past thirty seconds. No such luck.

Alright, soldier, that's it. No more diversions. Just do it.

He sighed, putting down his mug, and took It out of the in-box.

The budget.

As second in command, he had always reviewed it. Weaponry and munitions and such, for sure. Check the number of authorized gate trips for the coming quarter or year. A tiptoe through the technology section to cover Carter's six. Pretend to read the rest. Agree with the General's modifications. Boring, every-day, keep-the-base-running stuff. But now...

Now there would have to be cuts. Reductions in other places to pay for him. For... buying... him.

Nothing like choosing your own, on-going reminders of the hell you'd been through. Or being the one to choose who would pay the price -- literally, this time -- and what they would lose. He felt like the goddamned torturer, the whole base his innocent victims as they were forced to helplessly submit to his actions.

He tried to find easy things, little things no one would notice or care about.

Macaroni twice a week? Nope. Too cruel.

Bake sale? That wouldn't cut it, either. Pardon the pun.

Cheaper pencils and paper. No more of the slick embossed folders for the briefings. No bindings at all, for that matter. Just use the copy machine and a paperclip. And reuse that paperclip, airman!

Knock off a couple of gate trips this year. That hurt a bit more, as it could well be his own team's trips that were postponed.

Two hours later, he had made no real headway. He just couldn't take things away from other people to pay for himself. But he had to do something; Hammond wouldn't have sent him a copy of the budget if he weren't expected to do something with it.

He'd begun to consider other money-making schemes. He and Teal'c could wrestle airmen for cash, or take bets on hand-to-hand sparring. There were guys on base who would probably pay to see if they could best the Jaffa, or for a penalty-free chance to slug the base's second-in-command. He shivered a bit as that brought back memories; his captors had planned on selling the right to kill him when they decided he was no longer useful. This was different, he reminded himself. Voluntary and for a good cause. He sighed. It wouldn't make the kind of bucks he needed, anyway. Hell, selling his house wouldn't do it. He needed something big. Maybe he'd visit Carter and see if they had found some alien thing to sell, like the Men in Black selling microwave technology in the movie.

Making cuts was too hard. Everything affected someone, made their jobs harder. He refused to consider reducing the actual staff.

Maybe he just wouldn't cut anything.

It's not like he'd be repossessed if he didn't find the cash.

His pencil snapped in half as his mind flashed an image of being back there. It wasn't impossible. They were still out there. Could be close by, even on the base, and he might not realize it.

Special Ops was, by its very nature, secretive. All the more so when a 'special' operation degraded into a 'black' one, or when a special agent went rogue and ran his own ops.

He put his head down on his arms. Why did he have to think of that? And why did that thing have to be in here? Had the General left it, giving him responsibility for it? The whole thing was giving him a headache, and he closed his eyes in hopes of forestalling it.


	4. Chapter 4: Dream a Little Dream

oOo Chapter 4: Dream A Little Dream

He screamed as the small, dark haired woman leaned over him again, bringing pain with her. His back arched in a instinctive but vain attempt to escape. The pain stopped momentarily, and he flopped down, gasping for air.

"Again." The pain came with the word, and his back arched once more, eyes squeezed shut, and he bit his lip to hold back the accompanying cry.

"Again."

Suddenly, it was someone else in his place and he was watching. The woman screamed, writhing in agony before him. She arched up in pain, her back bent impossibly far upward, so far it seemed that it must break. He looked away from the grotesque sight of her twisted body toward her face; he could see the mole just under the curve where her jaw met her neck. With a gasp, she collapsed back and her hair fell away from her face. Carter. It was Carter with black hair. "No!" he cried out.

"Yes! Again!" Another voice insisted. The image widened, and he saw the other woman in the room. A small woman, dark hair and eyes, intensely watching the first one. "Again! Tell her!"

She wanted him to tell Carter it was going to happen again. He couldn't do it. Couldn't be the one to order that. The torturer turned on him, and it was Janet. "Say it! Say it now!" She held bloody hands up, stabbed a dripping red finger at him.

He was afraid of her, of what she had done. Of what she might do again. He opened his mouth to speak --

And snapped awake, drenched in cold sweat.

No! It couldn't have happened. It couldn't have. None of it. Janet wouldn't torture people. Carter was ok, he had seen her at breakfast. It wasn't her. She didn't have the mole. She didn't. Because it wasn't her. She hadn't been tortured in his place.

So why was he so sure it was a memory rather than a dream?


	5. Chapter 5: Don't Ask, Don't Tell

oOo Chapter 5: Don't Ask, Don't Tell

The next time he went to see McKenzie, someone else was in the waiting room.

"Sucks doesn't it?" she asked ruefully.

"What?"

"Being here. Seeing Doctor Delightful. Whichever of the tedious twins it is."

That he could agree with. They chatted for a few minutes before his appointment. A pleasant distraction for them both.

oOo

He woke abruptly, covered in a cold sweat. He'd had that dream again. Being tortured, then seeing Fraiser torture Carter. Carter's impossibly bent back and Fraiser's dripping hands floated before his eyes. It wasn't them. It couldn't be. Fraiser didn't even talk right in the dream. He understood her clearly, but something wasn't right with the way she said things. He told himself it was just a dream, but he didn't believe it. He knew some part of it was real.

He resisted the urge to call Carter to confirm that she was ok. He didn't call from home. Or from his cell phone on the way in. Or even when he scanned the check-in log and realized she wasn't in yet. When he saw that her badge had been scanned to activate the elevator, he was relieved.

It wasn't enough. He 'happened' by her office a few minutes later, offering to buy her a coffee, surreptitiously checking her neck to see for himself that there was no mole on it. He held the door, ostensibly being the gentleman, really just watching to see that she was moving normally; her smooth natural movement was more proof that she had never been twisted into a pretzel. He reluctantly left her and the hot coffee and went to his appointment with McKenzie.

The same woman was in the waiting room again that morning; apparently, she was on the fast-track to mental fitness, too. They introduced themselves, cautiously. Laura Standish and 'Just Jack.' No ranks, no assignments, and certainly no clue as to what nice officers like them were doing in a place like this. They talked about it being a nice day to hike on the mountain, and discovered they both liked to walk in the woods, in daytime or night. They talked about the best local trails, and shared stories about silly squirrel tricks and such.

All too soon, it was time to share memories with McKenzie instead of her.

oOo

The next day, he stopped by Carter's lab again, this time claiming he had forgotten his wallet and asking her to buy the next round of coffee. It was a stupid excuse, he knew, but some part of him insisted that there had to be an overt reason for coming by two days in a row. He could hardly tell her that he needed to see her after that dream, needed to see with his own eyes that she was ok. This time, at least, he thought far enough in advance to say that he enjoyed starting the day with her and suggest they do it again tomorrow. He invited Daniel and Teal'c, too; nightmares aside, coffee with the team was a nice way to start the day.

Laura was in the waiting room when he arrived, and he was glad. It was refreshing, being with her. A fresh start. Someone who wasn't looking at him funny after what happened. Or pussy-footing around because of his rank. Her relieved compliance with the no-rank-no-occupation-no-issues idea gave him the feeling that she had some similar secrets of her own.

They talked about hiking again, and sports as well. He was disappointed when they called him into the office.

"They're having Hockey Night at O'Malley's. Meet you there?"

He smiled. "Sounds good to me. Seven?"

"Seven it is."

They watched the game, arguing a bit over the calls and talking companionably about nothing in particular.

The waitress brought a refill of nachos and salsa, accidentally spilling the sauce. Laura leapt out of her chair with a gasp.

"Sorry. I'll bring you some more in a minute." The waitress didn't even look at her customers as she swiped at the red smear with a napkin.

Jack was watching Laura, who still stood, eyes wide. She slowly sat down, trembling, as the waitress left. "You ok?"

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath before opening them. "Fine. I just┘ It was┘" She closed her eyes again, opened them and took a long pull on her beer. "Sorry."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Don't Ask, Don't Tell, remember?" That was their little joke. Don't ask about work or therapy, and don't tell either.

"I hear ya. Want another beer?"

She smiled half-heartedly, still getting over the shock. Jack ordered another round of beers and told the waitress to take the salsa away.

"Why?" Laura demanded.

"I can have some another time."

"I don't need you to take care of me!"

He didn't bother with any excuses of a suddenly-remembered diet. They'd already shared two baskets of chips. "I'm not. I'm taking care of me. I've seen that look before. On my own face. Don't need to see it tonight."

She looked at him suspiciously, then relaxed more. "Sorry. Again. I can be a little sensitive sometimes."

"Maybe you should get counseling," he suggested with mock seriousness.

She glared at him, then they both laughed. They ended up making jokes about 'shrink rap' and suggesting silly platitudes and idiotic therapies like the ones you saw in 'Far Side' comics.

Maybe he should have seen it as an omen.


	6. Chapter 6: How Touching

oOo Chapter 6: How Touching

Jack grated at the new 'prescription' the shrink had given him. How dare he? It wasn't even a pill. Or another inane 'visualization' exercise. Nooooo. He had to have someone┘.touch him.

Well, ok, it was massage. It would feel good. But it was still someone touching him without it being his own idea or his own free will.

He'd snuck up on the idea, the little slime ball. He should have known something was up when the Doc asked if he lived alone. And if he was seeing anyone. He had had a stray thought that McKenzie was going to ask him out or something. The sheer creepiness of that thought was probably what distracted him from seeing it coming.

When he pointed out that his line of work, the 'travel' and all, made it difficult to maintain a committed relationship, McKenzie had given him a standard, knowing, 'mmmm-hmmmm' like all shrinks seemed to do.

Then he had sprung it on him, with a fierce twist of that invisible blade in his back.

A new prescription.

Touch therapy.

Skin-hunger, he had called it. Or something like that. Jack had been too surprised to make a note of the actual term. But the idea was that people craved touch. You needed to have skin-to-skin contact with other people. Most accomplished it with family and social life. Away from home, military men fulfilled the basic need with slaps on the shoulder, punches on the arm, and such.

He probably didn't get enough of it in General, McKenzie had decided. He lived alone. Didn't have a girlfriend. And, given his ranking position on base, there were few buddies to offer the necessary contact, although his team probably helped on missions. Just what the hell did he think they did out there, anyway?

"Don't you think I've had enough of being touched in the past month?" he'd asked.

"All the more reason," he had responded. "You've just been through weeks of incessant, unpleasant touch. And, now that you are back, most of the touch you are getting is medical. Not incessant, but not particularly pleasant, either. Basically, you've just been heavily conditioned against touch. Against a basic human need. You can't function for long without it. This has to be resolved."

Couldn't he have just told him to reach out and touch someone himself? Keep a journal or something if he had to have proof?

He shuddered at the idea of someone touching him against his will. And that's what this was. He didn't ask for it. Didn't even get to schedule it himself. McKenzie gave the command, and someone did it to him. He himself had no say in what happened, or when.

Torture wasn't about the pain, really. It was about control. About someone else having total control over you. Control of your body, to start with, demonstrated by inflicting pain when and where and for as long as they pleased. Then, when you were hurt and tired and scared enough, they would offer respite for your body in exchange for control of your mind. Little bits at first; your unit, your age, your hometown. Things that seemed worth the trade to spare your body, even for a little while. Once they had you talking, the questions would get harder, the punishment more intense, more insistent as they demanded --

"Hey, Jack," Daniel tapped him on the shoulder as he caught up to him in the hall.

And found himself up against the wall, an iron fist in his shirt. "Don't start with me!"

Daniel stared at his friend in shock. "I... was just going to ask if you had lunch yet," he said cautiously, hands up and open in submission. The best defense against Jack was none at all, nor any offense either. The Colonel would have to be in a blind rage to hurt someone who wasn't resisting. Jack would be proud of him for realizing that; unfortunately, he'd never mentioned it because it usually occurred to him when there was danger of Jack hurting someone. Like now, for instance. "I wasn't trying to start anything." He had a momentary flashback to his high school days, being bullied by the jocks. Given his recent experiences, he was pretty confident he could take any one of them today. But that was the problem with violence; there was always someone you couldn't beat. Like Jack.

Who was currently staring at him, as if deciding whether or not to pulverize him. Daniel swallowed nervously, reminding himself that this was Jack. Jack. His boss, his friend, in some ways his mentor. Jack wouldn't hurt him.

Apparently, Jack came to the same conclusion. Relaxing his grip, he straightened Daniel's shirt. "I'm not hungry."

Just like the man to avoid an apology. "You should.." at the wary look on Jack's face, he changed the sentence, "... suit yourself."

Jack sighed. "I didn't mean it. I thought maybe Dr Know-it-all put you up to it."

"Up to what? Asking you to have lunch?"

After another considering look, he apparently decided Daniel was being honest. "No. I'm allowed to eat. When I want to."

"Uh, good. That's...good." Daniel still had no idea what was going on, or why lunch was such an issue. They stood silently for a moment. "So... see you later, then?"

"Yeah. See ya." Jack stalked off down the hall.

He walked stiffly into the room.

"Here you are, sir," the assistant said brightly. "Disrobe and lie down. Tina will be in shortly." The perky young woman left the room.

He stood there for a moment, resentful and angry. Here we go, he thought. No choice. No input. No control. Not even the choice to keep his clothes on. _Taking a prisoner's clothes is standard intimidation technique_, his trainer had said, all those years ago.

He didn't even have the choice of making them _take_ his clothes. Nope. He had to do it himself. That made it ten times worse, really. _You may be forced to cooperate in your own abuse, his trainer had warned. You may have to participate in something, even ask for it to be done to you. I know what you're thinking. No way in hell will I sink that low. I'm telling you that you will. If there is good enough reason._

And he had a reason. In this case, the greater threat of losing his position if Dr Know-it-all decided he was too skin-starved to do field work.

He removed his uniform, folding it neatly and tucking it in the cubby.

_You may be given choices. This is not always a good thing. You may have to choose between the unbearable and the unimaginable_. Being touched against his will might be unbearable, but bear it he would, because losing SG-1 and his life here was unimaginable.

He lay down on the table.

_Make your choice and don't look back. Never second-guess, because you will not be given a second chance to make the decision. If, however, there is anything you can control, any little thing, do it. Because it will give you back that much of yourself._

He pulled the sheet up to cover himself, then dropped it on the floor instead. He could at least avoid her removing it without asking. He wasn't sure he could agree to it if she asked. And he didn't want her telling Dr Know-it-all that he hadn't permitted skin-to-skin contact.

A tap sounded at the door, followed by a younger woman in a white lab coat. "Hello, col √" she froze as he glared at her. She swallowed, still standing in the doorway. "Is┘ Is everything ok, sir?"

He nodded once, still glaring, and she entered nervously.

She was a little surprised to see that he was uncovered. Usually, people were cheerful, sometimes a little randy, when they did that. This patient was clearly neither.

"Ok, well, lets just get started then. Is there any particular area that is sore?"

He shook his head once, then lay it on his folded arms, face down so she couldn't see it. He gritted his teeth, telling himself that he was being unfair. It wasn't the girl's fault. She was just doing her job.

But right now her job was to torture him. A pleasant torment, yes, but torture nonetheless because he had no control. Had not asked for it, had no say in it. Knowing that it would raise memories of the recent weeks of incessant torturous touching didn't help. He had made his choice, he would accept this. But he wouldn't ask. And he didn't have to forgive her for it, or make things easy for her. They were stuck together for the next forty-five minutes, and they'd both just have to deal with it.

She looked down at the man on the table. He was in good shape, she could see all the muscles defined along his back and shoulders, crisscrossed by scabs and scars, and faintly colored from old bruises. Pity he was in such a bad mood.

She reached out and pressed her hands on his shoulders. They were hard as rock. "Wow, are you tense," she commented. He said nothing. She chatted about the muscle groups as she worked them, trying to relax him. If anything, he stiffened all the more as she worked.

She stopped talking and concentrated on doing her job, taking care to avoid his cuts as she manipulated his muscles. She couldn't help touching the bruises, but he didn't flinch or complain. Odd that they had prescribed massage before the surface wounds were fully healed, but around here anything could happen. Maybe the Colonel disagreed with their reasoning; it would explain why he was so angry.

It was a grim session, both participants silent and tense and equally relieved when it was over. She scurried out the instant the chime rang on the timer, hearing him hop off the table before the door closed. She watched from the break room as he stalked silently out of her work area and into the hall.

oOo

Carter looked up as he entered her lab. "Morning, sir." She stopped herself before asking how he was. He hated that, and was probably getting it all day with the angled blue-black bruises from the gag still vividly striping his bruised yellow face. She wondered briefly if she should try to cheer him up by passing on Daniel's comment that Jack looked like a Native American wearing war paint.

"Carter." He stepped closer, tilting his head to see the side of her neck. No mole. She never had one, he reminded himself. It wasn't her in the dream, just like it couldn't be Janet.

She shifted a bit, wondering what he was looking at. Again. He'd been doing that a lot lately. Looking at or for something on her neck. She'd asked him about it once, and he'd said it was nothing. Didn't really matter, if it made him happy he could look at her neck all day.

"You gonna keep the hair?"

She smiled. "Just till the weekend, sir. Apparently dark is easy, but you need a professional to go lighter again."

Sounded like something McKenzie might say: it's easy to make a man go dark-side, but coming back requires professional help.

"Good. Take Daniel with you." His teammates were blue-eyed once again, the contacts long-gone, but the dark, almost black hair bugged him.

She snickered, and the edges of his mouth quirked up in response. At least he could still make someone laugh.

"Carter..."

She waited, giving him time to finish.

"Did you ever see Men in Black?"

"The movie?"

"Yeah."

"Sure. What about it?"

He shifted a bit, looking at her kind of sideways. Kind of hopefully. She wondered what he was leading up to. He shouldn't be so tentative if he just wanted to watch a movie together. Please, please, please, don't let him tell her giant alien cockroaches were taking over the staff.

Although, around here, that wouldn't necessarily mean you were hallucinating.

"Have we found a microwave yet?"

"Sir?" the eyebrows went up, both of them, only Teal'c seemed to be able to do the single-brow trick.

"A microwave, Carter. Like in the movie. Something we can sell. Some newfangled technology that everyone's just gotta have."

She grinned. "No, sir. I think the Groom Lake facility is more likely to have the time to develop commercial applications."

"You sure you don't have anything cool around here?" He looked around at the tables and shelves in her lab. "Could use the cash."

"Sir?"

"Budget, Carter. We've got a bit of a budget issue." Hands in pockets, he rocked on his heels and looked at the floor as he admitted his problem. Maybe his second's galaxy-renowned brain could find an answer where he could not.

"Hammond has _you_ working on the budget, sir?" He looked up at her, and she realized that that tone wasn't how a Major should refer to a General. Nonetheless. "Isn't that... inappropriate? Sir?"

He shrugged, looking down again. "It was in my in-box. Not like it would have been there from... before," he said quietly. There was silence beside him. He gave her a false smile. "Don't worry about it, Carter. I'll figure something out." He was out the door before she could say another word.

Well, half his objective fulfilled. Carter was going to ditch the hair. Now he just had to persuade Daniel to do it, too.

oOo

He hated mornings, he decided. They all started with that horrible dream, as life-like today as the first time, and with that same certainty that it was really a memory. Then it was on to the base to check on the team before his visits with Touch-me Tina and Mad-Max McKenzie. This rapid-recovery plan was all too much like Max handcuffing that guy to the burning car. Saw your own foot off, and quick, or you lose everything. He used to like that movie.

Touch-Me Tina was marginally better. He had to submit to her 'handling' -- he was so revolted by the whole thing that even in his mind the word came out in quotes -- but at least he didn't have to talk. He would, however, have to demonstrate some change that McKenzie could happily call progress. Try as he might, he just couldn't force his muscles to relax when he knew she'd be there poking and prodding and kneading him, reawakening all the memories of where those cuts and burns and bruises had come from.

Tina saw her patient bow his head, exposing his neck. Was that an invitation to massage his neck? Was she finally getting him to relax? She moved slowly upwards, concentrating on how his muscles felt below her hands. He was less tense, she decided. More like bad-day-at-the-office-tense than gun-to-his-head-tense. She decided to make another effort to be friendly, too.

"Mind if I ask about your tattoo? Is there a story behind the underlined infinity symbol?"

Oops. He was gun-to-the-head-tense again.

"Sorry if that's too personal, sir," she apologized hastily. "Usually if people get the really large tattoos, they like to be asked about them." No answer. Great. He had finally relaxed, and she had to open her big mouth. She sighed and went quietly back to work.

Jack held angrily still on the table, feeling the twinge of the unseen knife yet again. _As soon as he tried to relax..._


	7. Chapter 7: Setbacks and Obstacles

oOo Chapter 7: Setbacks and Obstacles

Jack pried himself out of the tiny car, relieved to be able to move again. Maybe he'd get one of those live mustangs the government was giving away. It couldn't be much harder on his six than the mechanical version was on his knees. He refused to bend over and rub the spot where the keys gouged his knee, walking slowly instead, extending his long legs fully at every step to stretch them and encourage circulation.

The team was ready and waiting for their morning coffee. Apparently they were enjoying this new ritual as much as he was. He sighed gently as he noted that all were present and healthy. Confirmation that his team was safe was more of a 'fix' than the caffeine. They wandered off to their own morning plans as he headed to his bouts with Touch-Me Tina and Mad Max McKenzie. At least the afternoon held some promise. Pretty sad when you started looking forward to running obstacle course training.

He made an effort to relax his body as he waited for Tina to arrive. The past few times hadn't been as bad, actually. Tina hadn't attempted to make inane conversation with him since the 'tattoo' comment a few days ago. He'd been angry about that at first; she had no right to make comments about his body or anything on it.

After he'd had some time to think, he decided she was just not too bright. Ok, he thought she was stupid, but he couldn't say that out loud. She thought it was a tattoo, and she didn't even recognize the image. Dimwit. Although, picturing her as just another piece of brainless equipment did make the touch therapy easier to take.

He was finally accepting it, though he still thoroughly despised the fact that he had no control. In the beginning, vivid memories of abuse welled up at every little touch. It would build during the session, waves of pain, ripples of fear, rivulets of remembered blood, flowing together into a tidal wave that threatened to overwhelm him before the hour was up. Now he could hold the flood at bay by focusing on other things. He'd begun playing a mental game while he was in there, counting how many ways he could irritate McKenzie without getting caught.

He was lying there, being the model patient as always, offering himself without cover or resistance, mind innocently thinking of pleasant things like putting itching powder in McKenzie's chair, when it happened.

She hurt him.

The pain shot up his neck and down his back like fire. He reacted instinctively, pushing away his attacker and rolling in the opposite direction. He fell off the table and onto the floor while she screamed and knocked over a pile of those metal trays that were always stacked in medical offices. He stared at her for a moment, already aware that there was no serious threat, and felt the stabbing of the invisible knife surpass the ebbing physical pain of whatever she had done to him. As soon as you start to relax┘

People came running, of course, to see what had happened. They gaped at him, sprawled on the floor, naked and abused, and her, standing on the other side of the room fully dressed and perfectly fine.

And they commiserated with _her_.

Even when she admitted that she had pushed too hard on a pressure point, and that his reaction to the electric-shock sensation was natural, they still consoled her. _Poor Tina, it was just an accident. Poor Tina, you're lucky you weren't hurt._ Poor Tina, my bare ass! What about him? He was the injured party here, not Poor Tina!

They patronized him, said that they understood that it must have hurt, but he needed to understand that Poor Tina was under a lot of stress lately.

At least they could all agree that this session should end early. He stalked out, hearing the sudden silence as he passed the break room and knowing that they were whispering about him.

He so wanted this whole thing to be over, to have his whole life back to normal. He found himself once again looking forward to the afternoon's obstacle-course training; the cadets didn't know him and would have no reason to talk about him like that.

oOo

Colonel O'Neill smiled at his troops. If they knew him, they'd have been worried about that. "Colonel Conroy has asked me to run you through a little obstacle course training today," O'Neill told them. "So, in ya go," he waved to the troop transport truck.

The men exchanged glances. The obstacle course was only half a mile away and he was going to let them ride in a truck? This guy from Cheyenne Mountain was gonna be easy! Smiling in anticipation of a vacation day from 'real' training, the climbed aboard.

The truck headed toward the obstacle course. And kept going right on past.

When they finally stopped several minutes later, the cadets were confused. They'd gone way too far. They must be off Andrews Air base by now.

The Colonel opened the flap on the back of the truck and smiled up at them. "Here we are, boys!"

They emerged to find themselves in the parking lot of a kids' entertainment complex. The Colonel led them inside. A few of them laughed; still thinking it was going to be easy.

The place was filled with miniature objects. Small tubes, resembling habitrails used by gerbils but sized for small children. Ramps and bridges made of rope woven like hammocks. Slides of all kinds. Gauntlets of punching bags swayed idly, held at top and bottom by ropes but free to move between.

"Welcome to planet P-U-N-Y," the Colonel told them cheerfully, grinning at the disbelief on all the faces before him. "The enemy comes in all shapes and sizes," he continued. If they only knew the half of it, he thought to himself. "Some small folks have hidden an object of strategic importance in this outpost. Your job is to retrieve the object and bring it to me." With little more direction than that, and no specific description of the object to be retrieved, he sent them off.

Jack made himself comfortable to watch the show. They squirmed through tunnels too small for their shoulders, dragging or pushing their packs. Loaded packs, of course, since an army never traveled empty handed. Every one of them was toting a hundred pounds of sand. A bit more than the typical backpack, but it made up for not having to carry a weapon.

One man cursed as he got stuck in a covered slide. His legs waved comically out of the bottom as he scrabbled with his feet against the smooth plastic in an attempt to pull himself out. Jack had conveniently brought a camera, and he was glad of it. Another man's legs were now sticking out the other end of the slide as he went in head-first to try to push his fellow soldier out. He could hear them yelling for help; they were now both trapped inside the yellow-plastic tube. It was probably quite cozy in there, but the fact that he could hear them so well told him it wasn't airtight. He'd let them figure a way out.

His attention was distracted as a man fell into the seven feet of hollow plastic balls that had been Jack's own addition to the layout. The man shrieked in surprise as he disappeared under the balls. A second brave-but-not-wise soul dove after him. And disappeared. Jack wondered how many Teal'c would take out before they thought not to dive into places they couldn't see into.

He glanced over, careful not to look right at Carter. She lay flat atop a large roof-like area in one corner. A small maze was under her position, with padded doors that swung to change the layout. The doors could be held in place by metal pins from above so as not to frighten the smallest children when they played in there. Carter cheerfully pinned and freed various doors to trap the men in tiny prisons or confuse them as they tried to follow other soldiers.

Soldiers, Jack thought ruefully. They were children themselves, that's what had given him the idea. They were all so very young, relatively new to the Andrews base and to the service itself. It made the SGC's new recruits look mature. Even little Hailey looked older than these guys. She was certainly wise enough not to make the mistakes these kids were making.

Daniel was enjoying their foibles, though. He was in charge of the punching bags. Or, rather, the ropes that held them. They mostly hung loose, and the men pushed past them with little notice. Until Daniel put tension on one of the ropes, turning the object from a heavy curtain into a solid wall. He seemed to have it in for the biggest guys, making them run smack into a bag that the little guy in front pushed aside.

Finally they found what they were looking for. Sealed up in one of Carter's little traps. They struggled for a while to get it, and then one man got the door open. He grabbed the object, only to find that he was now trapped along with it. It took them a long time to get him free. Some would say it wasn't fair, but this one was a test of tenacity, not logic. They figured out that they could flatten their prize and slide it out, but that left their man inside. Another test, to see if they would leave a man behind to accomplish a mission objective.

Finally, they stood triumphantly before him, offering him the strange blue object. He told them flat out that they passed for not leaving a man behind and for their tenacity in retrieving man and object.

"May I ask what that is, sir?"

He smiled. They were fast learners; they responded with worried looks. He was sure he saw someone poke the man in the side for asking such a dangerous question. "Better than that, you can use it." He led them outside to a shallow pit already dug in the ground. The arranged themselves warily around it, none getting too close. He enjoyed the tense looks. Soldiers should be cautious when appropriate.

But they should also get a break now and then. He asked for three volunteers, trying not to laugh as they all squirmed and hoped someone else would do it. Finally, three stepped forward, looking as enthusiastic as if he were going to bury them in that shallow hole. He had them unfold the mysterious object in the pit. And then fill that sandbox liner with the contents of their packs.

He had them in formation in front of the truck when the bus arrived, full of children. The obediently followed their teacher out of the bus and made a double line next to her in front of their new sandbox, looking for all the world like a miniature version of his own fresh-faced crew. The teacher smiled and raised her hand, and all the kids saluted, shouting 'Thankyou, Colonel Jack!' Jack saluted back, and his men followed suit. Jack held the position for a moment, and the kids watched the military leader carefully. He snapped his hand down smartly and they leapt into the sand, squealing and laughing.

His own 'kids' were smiling, too, as they climbed in the truck for the trip back to base.

oOo What Friends Are For

Teal'c strode purposefully towards O'Neill's office. The Colonel should have returned there moments ago. The bizarre 'touching' ritual assigned by Dr McKenzie troubled his friend, and Teal'c wanted to help him overcome his reaction to it. The man would not wish to 'talk about it' as was so popular among humans of the Tau'Ri, and Teal'c would not attempt to make him speak of it. He would simply 'be there' for his friend.

He used O'Neill's own excuse for this new found habit of visiting every day after the touching ritual. Coffee, consumed in solitude, did not taste the same as coffee imbibed with a friend. As O'Neill was responsible for convincing him to drink the beverage, O'Neill should be the one to share a mid-morning coffee break. A flimsy pretext, perhaps, but it served as an explanation for his daily visits.

The fact that O'Neill did not look past this paltry excuse only confirmed the value of the exercise.


	8. Chapter 8: Dream Come True

oOo Chapter 8: Dream Come True

Dr Smith frowned at his patient. "I'm sorry to tell you, sir, but some of those cuts are just not healing as well as we had hoped. I'd like to have Dr Fraiser take a look at you when she gets in."

Twist went that shadowy knife in his back. "Are you saying you are not qualified to handle a _cut_?"

Smith bristled at the sarcastic tone. And the implication. "Of course I am qualified!" he retorted.

"Then just deal with it."

Smith took a deep breath, calming himself. First rule of medicine: don't get involved with the patient or let them manipulate you. Well, ok, that was the second rule. The first one was the medical classic of doing no harm and always helping. But 'rule numbers' aside, the fact was that obnoxious people deserve the same care as nice ones do. He took another breath, matching the officer's angry glare with his own patented listen-to-your-doctor face.

The man was right, actually. Smith was perfectly capable of handling the injury. And would if he weren't so new to this base. But he hadn't been here long enough to know the people, or the ramifications of crossing one versus the other. Dr Fraiser was his boss, and she had specifically told him that she wanted to see the Colonel personally if anything changed for the worse. O'Neill outranked Fraiser, but she was the one who could make his daily life hell.

"Dr Fraiser specifically asked to see you if anything changed. More than a few of the lacerations are involved. I'm going to inform her of the situation when she arrives."

"Fine. Inform her. Take pictures. Rent a billboard. Just fix the damn things now so I don't have to waste my time coming back here."

"Sir..."

"Are you qualified or not?"

"Yes, sir!" Damn Fraiser! He looked like an incompetent idiot thanks to her micro-managing. "We'll do it now. Lie down on your chest." He pressed the buzzer and asked the nurse for supplies. He switched to his doctor voice, the one that sounded like Daniel in professor-mode. "The affected areas are mainly on your back and upper legs. Probably because the back is harder for you to clean and the lower areas from sitting. I'm going to clean them then put a sealant on them."

"Sealant? Like a driveway?"

"More like the industrial strength version of liquid skin. Industrial strength version of the sting, too, just to warn you."

"Great." The Colonel grumpily lay down as ordered as the nurse arrived with the supplies. The doctor rattled around with some things for a few minutes, checking his weapons and ammo, no doubt. It was hard to lay there, waiting for something that he knew was going to hurt. Too much like when they -- _no! Do not go there_, he ordered himself sternly.

"First, the cleaning part. This is going to sting, too, so let's get it over with all at once, shall we?" Smith suppressed a smirk. Let's see how Mr Competence likes this. He draped the small disinfectant-soaked sterile sheet over his patient's back. The man hissed with the sudden pain and his grip tightened on the edges of the table.

Smith felt a bit of petulant satisfaction at this trivial revenge; nothing infuriated him as much as being called incompetent. He set his gloved hands on top of the sheet and pressed firmly, ensuring that the disinfectant reached every wound. His hands moved slowly down and across, lifting and pressing, lifting and pressing. The patient stayed still and surprisingly, considering his earlier behavior and reputation, did not complain. Smith felt rather than heard the quiver in his patient's breathing and felt suddenly repentant. "Doing ok so far, sir?"

"Just finish it."

Smith rolled his eyes. This one was definitely not the touchy-feely type. "Won't be too much longer. But I have to make sure the disinfectant gets into the scabs. It will re-open some of the old wounds, but we want that, to get them clean."

Re-opening old wounds. That was what he needed to hear. "Can't we talk about something else?"

"Like taking this off?"

Jack could almost hear the smile on the doctor's face as the fiery sheet was removed. He smiled back. "Yeah, like that!"

Smith dropped the sheet in the disposal bin and examined the results of his efforts. The most worrying lacerations had reopened, and looked clean; all the remaining scabs were clearly softened and should have absorbed at least some of the antibiotic. He was satisfied. "Looks good so far, sir. They're clean, and have had a direct dose of antibiotics. Now we just need to seal them back up to keep anything else out. Are you ready?"

Jack grunted assent.

Smith picked up his bottle of liquid skin and a sterile dauber. "Here we go." He dabbed some of the liquid on and heard another intake of breath from his patient. But still no complaints. Fraiser had told him that the Colonel was a big baby unless he had major injuries. He wasn't seeing it. "And here." He painted another cut. "And --"

"Stop!"

"Sir?"

Jack took a breath. He couldn't exactly say that his captors had done the same thing, saying 'again' before they inflicted each of those cuts. 'Again' and 'again' and 'again' to the point that he would flinch at the mere sound of the word. Or that he kept dreaming of Fraiser doing that same thing. "The 'and here' part. I think I know what's coming up."

"Ok. Some patients like the warning." He went back to work.

"Only warning I want to hear is the two-minute warning."

"Sports fan?"

"Yeah. You?"

They chatted about hockey as Dr Smith continued the laborious process of sealing every cut. He hadn't gotten very far before the door opened and Fraiser entered. _Should have known better than to start to relax, Jack..._

"Heard you were in here, Colonel. How's he doing, Doctor?"

"Just fine, Doctor. Some of the lacerations were presenting with signs of infection, so I cleaned them all just in case.

Sealing them up now."

"I asked you to call me if anything changed."

Smith stiffened. Was she calling him incompetent, too? "I haven't even finished with the patient yet!"

"Don't take that tone with me." She was annoyed that Smith hadn't followed her orders, but more afraid that O'Neill had asked to not see her. She wanted an excuse to be with the Colonel alone, to see how he would respond to her. "I'll take over. I wanted to examine him anyway."

Smith pressed his lips together and slapped the bottle down on the counter. He stalked out without another word.

Fraiser ignored him. She was focused on the Colonel. She pulled on a pair of gloves. "How are you doing, Colonel?"

He didn't answer. Didn't even look at her. Just lay there with his face on his arms, holding on to the edge of the table.

"Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

"Just finish it," he snapped.

She sighed and picked up the bottle of sealant. "I wish you'd talk to me, sir. Just say something when you want to talk, ok?" Still no response. It was true. He was so disgusted with her he'd rather pretend she wasn't even there. "Here we go then." She dabbed sealant on a cut. "Again."

She saw him stiffen.

"Are you ok?"

No response.

"Again." She painted another cut.

Gasp.

"Colonel?"

No response.

"Again." She painted another cut.

Another gasp.

"Again."

The gasp came even before she touched the wound with the antibiotic.

"Does it hurt a lot?" It shouldn't be that bad. She wished he would just say something, even to complain. Something. "Talk!"

"No!"

"Talk to me!"

"No!"

"Have it your way then." She painted a cut.

"Again."

"Again."

"Again."

It blurred together, the memories and the reality, as she continued to paint the wounds. He was there and a prisoner and they were trying to make him talk. He was here and a patient and she was trying to make him talk. He was there and the woman was hurting him, little hurts over and over. He was here and the woman was hurting him in the same places. He was there and it hurt. He was here and it hurt. He was there, she was there. And it hurt.

His breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his eyes squeezed tight shut, as the memories won out over the all-too-similar reality. He wasn't tied down this time, but he was still trapped. He couldn't fight back, couldn't even run away. There was a reason, something important, but his confused mind couldn't quite remember what it was; the desperate struggle to endure overwhelmed any coherent thoughts. He just knew that he had to stay, had to take it without fighting back.

"Do you want me to stop?"

No answer but his heavy breathing. He didn't dare assent to her offer; the price of mercy was too high.

"Talk to me!"

"No!" he shouted. He'd tried misleading his captors once, buying precious relief with his trickery. They had made it painfully clear that silence was better than lies.

There were voices behind him, but he didn't look up. He had to stay, to take it, without restraint. It was part of the torture now; if he didn't stay willingly, he would lose something. The important thing, the reason for it all. He wished he could remember what it was.

Dr Smith looked at his boss and at the patient on the table. The patient was clearly distressed, breathing hard and clinging to the table for dear life. Why wasn't Dr Fraiser responding to that? The doctor herself looked a little startled, and Smith wondered what had happened since he left. The Colonel had been fine before, with him. Fraiser had warned him that this man was a big baby, but he hadn't seen it himself. Was it something she was doing that caused this reaction?

He debated for a moment; his boss had basically thrown him out once, and the Colonel was in no mortal danger. He could just leave again; it wasn't like he particularly wanted to spend more time with the irritable officer, and he certainly didn't want to piss off his new boss after only a few days on the job. Another look at the patient and his Hippocratic oath won out. It was his duty to help. Every patient.

Jack was aware that the torment had paused. Far from being relieved, he feared what worse thing they were gearing up for. It was too much to hope that they would end the session while he was still conscious.

"Would you check on the patient in room two, Dr Fraiser? I can finish up here." He firmly took the jar from her hand. Still a little flustered, Fraiser allowed him to take the jar, and escaped to the patient in room two.

Smith closed the door and set the jar down. "Are you ok, sir?" he asked gently. The man held rigidly still, breathing fast, but did not answer. Smith sat down on the stool. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Huh? Tell him what happened? They did it, they ought to know. Wait. Him? Tell _him_? The woman was gone, he realized, as was the pain. He tried to work out what was happening; was this some new twist to the torment? Had they changed the rules again? He had to figure it out, decide what to do, before he lost the Important Thing.

Tell him what happened. Was he supposed to talk about what they had done? That was an original way to get a prisoner to open his mouth; talk about what's being done to you or we'll do worse. An easy out, nothing to be gained by protecting the details of your interrogation. Except once you started talking, they'd never let you stop, no matter what topic they switched to.

He became aware that someone was already speaking. The man next to him was talking. About hockey. Just like Dr Smith had once, before...

He slumped abruptly, breathing deeply, firmly back in the here and now. "God."

"Flashback?" Dr Smith asked with compassion.

Jack nodded, not looking at him.

"That sucks."

"Is that your professional opinion?" Humor was the way out of most any situation.

Dr Smith smiled. "Yep. Been there myself. It definitely sucks." He paused. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. If not, I understand. Your call."

His patient wasn't forthcoming with details, which was fine with him. Offering to listen was the decent thing to do as a fellow veteran, but it didn't mean he really wanted to know about what the guy was flashing back to. No one flashed back to the good times.

The silence stretched into a few minutes, and the patient was definitely less distressed. "Wish I could just let you walk out of here, but we do need to seal those lacerations. When you're ready. No rush."

oOo#

His day-from-hell was not over. Not by a long shot. He had to go and see Touch-me Tina next, then McKenzie later. He thought seriously of skipping the massage; he still had the shakes from his little adventure with Fraiser. But McKenzie would find out for sure, and he'd have to have a really good reason. He still wasn't ready to discuss the dream with the psychiatrist, so that wasn't an option. Why couldn't aliens ever invade the base when you wanted them to? He sighed and headed toward his next appointment.

Tina came in, not doing her usual perky act. She paused beside him. "Sir..."

He waited to hear what she would say. It would be nice to get an apology for the pressure-point thing, but that would mean he'd be obligated to forgive her. And he hadn't.

"Sir, I don't want to do this."

His eyes flew open, staring in surprise at the floor. _She_ didn't want to do this? Was this a free get-out-of-jail card? Or was she refusing to work on him? Not that he wanted to be here at all, but he'd better not get in trouble for it. That incident had been her fault, not his.

"You've obviously had some recent medical attention. I'm afraid some of these lacerations might open up if I try to manipulate your muscles. Can we stop for a few days?"

"Fine with me!" he tried not to sound too enthusiastic. "You'll need to tell McKenzie that it's your professional opinion."

'McKenzie? McKenzie ordered this?" Well, that certainly explained a few things. Like why the hell he was in here with such tender skin in the first place. She should have questioned it from the beginning, but this place was so insane that she had just assumed there was a good reason Dr Smith ordered it. And the Colonel's attitude had reinforced the idea that it was ordered for a reason. Chances were that Smith wasn't reviewing McKenzie's orders outside of checking for drug interactions, and that McKenzie didn't realize the true condition of this man's body.

As for herself, she didn't read the charts, a clerk did, and then sent out requests to the other departments for massage or other rehab work. It was the same with the pharmacy. They did their part, and documented that, but they rarely went back to read the original orders.

Jack grunted in confirmation.

"With all due respect, sir," she was treading on dangerous ground here, talking about her superiors in both the medical and military chain of command. "Dr Smith is more, uh, experienced with injuries like this than Dr McKenzie. I'd like to suggest that we postpone any further massage until Dr Smith says your skin is ready. If that's all right with you?"

oOo

The next few days were a study in contrasts.

He thoroughly enjoyed seeing people again, watching their reactions as the 'dead' Colonel approached. But of course, the reunion invariably included the question of what had happened, which took all the fun out of it.

He looked forward to chatting with Laura each morning. But it was increasingly difficult to deal with McKenzie's probing questions. McKenzie told him he was improving, but would not stop the touch therapy or even let him see his team's damn field reports.

He was glad to see his office after an hour with the psychiatrist, but IT always loomed in his in-box.

He was tired, but he still had a hard time sleeping. Every time he lay down that cruel song would play in his mind. When I open up my eyes, I will lose you. He was soo going to hurt that bear. Or maybe the person who sent him and his evil little song. Because its just a dream. He was still trying to convince himself that his recurrent nightmare was all nightmare. But he was so certain it was real┘.

He'd developed a habit of buying Carter a coffee in the morning. He had the dream most nights, so real that he was sure some of it was memories and not dreams. Afterwards he couldn't focus on anything else until he checked that she was really ok. If Daniel and Teal'c didn't join them in the dining hall, he'd go find them after. He liked to know they were all safe before he went to his appointment with Dr McKenzie and the memories.


	9. Chapter 9: One Saturday Evening

oOo Chapter 9: One Saturday Evening

On Saturday, Daniel accompanied Sam to the hairdresser. Mutinously, to be sure, but he did do it.

Daniel and Sam made their debut that evening at the Colonel's for a barbecue. The relief on his face when he saw his fair-haired companions once again fair-haired was unmistakable. His whole body seemed to lose some tension.

"Better! Much, much better!"

He ushered them in. "Wine or scotch tonight, Daniel?" He paused expectantly over the bar, and Daniel realized that not only did he have scotch and wine, he had Daniel's favorite kinds. Daniel chose the wine, since the bottle had already been opened to breathe. To his surprise, Jack took a glass for himself as well. Carter opted for a beer.

"Can you remind me how to grill tofu burgers, Carter?"

"You got tofu burgers?" He must have gotten it specially for her; he hated tofu in all its forms.

He looked sheepish. "Yeah. Steaks, too. Your choice."

"I'll go with the burger, sir. And if you accidentally cook your steak too long, I'll take the 'done' edges so you can have your raw meat without any of that cooked brown part to get in the way."

"Burger it is!" She was surprised that he hadn't responded to her teasing him about the steak. "Teal'c's out warming up the grill." He led them both out, detouring into the kitchen for the meat.

"Corn on the cob, too? I love corn on the grill."

"I know." Jack handed a plate, piled with fresh ears of corn, to Daniel. "Got the idea for the wine from you, too, actually." He added a pair of tofu burgers to the steaks already on a second plate and lifted that one himself. He raised the wine glass again. "I like this. Should have tried it sooner." He looked sideways at Daniel.

"Told you so, Jack!" The Colonel grinned at him; Daniel was always pushing various wines at the rest of the team, complete with history lessons on each vintage. "But you never listen to me."

Carter saw the Colonel's smile falter. Just for a moment, before it gamely returned. She wondered if Daniel noticed how his comment had stung. Jack actually listened to him more often than the military might prefer. "What kind is it?" Carter asked, moving away from the sensitive subject.

Daniel held up his glass of sparkling golden liquid, "It looks like a white wine, but its headier, like a red. They make it with honey instead of grapes and┘" Carter didn't miss Jack's grateful glance as they trooped out with the food. Daniel went on to tell them about honey wine predating grape wine, its reputation as the nectar of the gods, and its life story from then till its current rarity. Jack made a point of showing obvious attention to it all.

He leaned on the railing of his deck, thoroughly enjoying the evening. Carter and Daniel were back to normal √ well, in the looks department, anyway. Who could say how truly normal any of them were anymore? His whole team was here with him. Their favorite foods were on the grill. Even the weather was cooperating. He felt relaxed for the first time in ages. Comfortable. Content.

He half-smiled at Carter as she told him about some experiment that had gone better than expected. Didn't matter whether he understood it all; he was happy that she was happy, and it added to the pleasure of the evening.

Daniel went into the house for more wine. He started to get some for Jack as well, but then decided to bring him a beer instead. Hopefully, Jack would take it as intended; a return gesture showing his familiarity and respect for the other man's tastes. He strolled out to the deck. Everyone was right where he had left them. He walked up to Jack, nudged his bare arm with the cold beer bottle.

"No!" Jack jumped so hard away from the sudden touch that his wine glass flew from his hand. He crouched defensively, wild-eyed, checking his surroundings. Seeing only his team, all standing warily back from him, he closed his eyes and sighed. _As soon as he started to relax..._

"Are you ok, Jack?"

He nodded, stood slowly and looked sheepishly at his friends. "Guess I'm still a bit jumpy."

"My fault, Jack. I shouldn't have touched you like that." Mentally, Daniel kicked himself. He really should have known better, especially after that incident in the hall at the base.

"I vote we skip talking about it and eat instead." _Let's stick a knife into a steak instead of the Colonel for a change._

"We cannot."

_T_ was going to make him talk? No way! He, of all people, understood.

"There is broken glass in the grill. We cannot eat the meat or the corn on the cob."

Jack stared in dismay at the grill. His glass had naturally landed in it. Damn it, why couldn't he be allowed one good evening? He slammed the lid shut.

"There's always another way, sir." He looked at her. "Pizza would go really well with this beer." She held her bottle up.

"Onomatopizza?" Daniel asked hopefully.

"We'll starve to death before anyone figures out how to spell it!"

Daniel pretended to pout. He was glad to hear the sarcasm returning to his friend's voice.

"I believe there is a new pizza establishment that is becoming quite popular. It is said that the customers always return."

"Hasta la Pizza!" Jack was definitely looking more interested. "You'll be back," he intoned in his best Arnold Schwarzenegger imitation.

"Oooh! I want to try the cinnamon terminators." Carter licked her lips.

"Can we at least get anchovies?" Daniel was sticking with the petulant routine; it rarely failed to get a response from Jack.

"I'll get you your very own _Hasta la Pizza Baby_ with anchovies and whatever else you want," Jack promised.

"You don't have to buy," he objected.

"Chill out," Jack told him, still in his Arnold voice. "It won't cost a thick wad." He smiled. Maybe this evening would turn out ok after all. He started toward the house to get the phone and order.

"Daniel Jackson, is there also an alternative meaning to this Onomatopizza?"

Jack double-timed it through the door, sure that Carter was grinning at his back, and equally sure he didn't want to be any part of the discussion that was starting.

"Actually, Teal'c, onomatopoeia are words that sound like what they mean."

"Do not all words sound like what they mean?"

"Well, onomatopoeia sound like their sound."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow.

Carter settled back to listen; unlike the Colonel, she was going to enjoy hearing Daniel trying to explain this one. His professor-ways were kicking in, and he was trying to explain it from a poetic and language point of view rather than taking the obvious route of using examples.

Eventually, she realized that the Colonel was overdue. Carter glanced at the house and was surprised by what she saw. The Colonel was sitting near the sliding glass door, on the inside, and grinning like a fool. The source of his amusement was further inside the house, maybe in the kitchen.

Carter opened the door in time to hear her co warmly say, "I love you." She froze. She knew he hadn't been speaking to her. So there was a special someone in the house?

A feminine throat chuckled. "I know." A woman came out of the kitchen, a glass of wine in one hand, the cordless phone in the other. "I think you're safe now, Jack," she teased.

"You're crazy, you know that?" He laughed outright, a rarity for him. "I can't believe you asked the phone solicitor out!"

Colonel Morgan laughed back. "Well, you won't be getting any more calls."

"What if she calls back anyway?"

"If you can't fend her off, we'll just have to have a threesome." She laughed again, a low throaty sound. "I think I've shocked Major Carter." She waved her glass in the direction of the door, where the Major stood, mouth partly open. Morgan walked over to the door. "Don't worry, Major, we wouldn't hurt him...much," she assured Carter. Morgan walked on out to the patio, still chuckling.

Jack smiled at her back. "At ease, Carter. Morgan's just being funny." The female Colonel's sense of humor was as bold and raunchy as any airman's. She was in no way being serious, any more than he had seriously proclaimed his love for her after her joke. Not even hinting at it. Considering what SG-1 had recently rescued her from, Jack thought it would be a while before she would touch any man with a ten foot pole. Unless it was to beat the guy to death with it.

The others didn't know the whole story of what had happened on that planet. No one but he and Morgan knew. And no one else ever would; they had an understanding about that. He wouldn't tell anyone the full extent of what had happened to her, and she wouldn't tell anyone about his role in it.

Jack levered himself out of the chair, and he and Carter followed Morgan out onto the patio. Morgan was sipping her wine as Teal'c explained that Daniel was describing the concept of onomatopoeia.

"Buzzzz."

"New cell phone, Carter?"

"No, sir. 'Buzz' is an example of onomatopoeia. Using a sound as its own name. Or naming an object for its sound. Like chickadee or katydid."

Teal'c inclined his head in understanding.

Daniel looked a little miffed that Carter had explained it so quickly. He turned toward Colonel Morgan. "So, what brings you here?"

She snorted. "With a welcome like that, how could I resist?" Daniel was nonplussed, unable to think of a response, so she continued. "Actually, I need to borrow Jack for a little Colonel-talk."

"Girl-talk??"

She choked on her wine, then looked at her host with a smirk. "Guess I don't know you as well as I thought, Jack." He glared at her and she smiled sweetly back. "But tonight, I only have time for 'Ker-nal' talk," she corrected. "As in Colonels-only. Won't take long." She turned to Jack. "Is there somewhere private we could go?"

"Let's go to my bedroom." The kitchen and living room didn't have doors to close, so it was either that or the bathroom.

"Jack! I'm not that kind of officer!"

It would take more than that to embarrass Jack. "Says who?" He opened the door.

"Did you make the bed after you were finished with him, Teal'c?" She paused, looking at the big man as if expecting an answer.

Jack rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head slightly. She'd gotten Teal'c with that old 'have you stopped beating your wife' kind of joke. His friend stood, one eyebrow raised, as he attempted to work out the right way to answer.

"Colonel," Jack prompted, indicating the door. She walked in and he followed, suppressing a tiny smile at the look on Teal'c's face.

The update was brief, but he could see why they didn't want to use the phone or wait till Monday. Plans were underway to find the SGC's security breach. The person who had set him up to be captured. Jack's team couldn't know the details if they were to be themselves proven innocent.

"That's it, then. Better get you back out there before your team mounts a rescue mission."

"Want to stay for pizza?"

"No, thanks. I don't think the gang really wants me around."

"If you'd stop making comments like that, they'd come around." She'd had all three of them speechless in a matter of minutes, a feat he hadn't accomplished in years of knowing them.

"I like to keep people off-balance. If they don't like it, it's their problem, not mine."

"Suit yourself." He knew what she was doing, of course. Making jokes to prove that she hadn't been intimidated or beaten by her recent experiences. He'd done it himself at times to prove it to himself. And to keep others at a distance. But there was such a thing as overcompensating. He was glad he had never done that. hehe couldn't resist that line!

They returned to the others and Morgan said goodbye, asking about the restroom as well.

"Next to the bedroom," Jack told her. She had her hand on the door when he added, "And leave the seat UP when you're done!"

She didn't look back, waving a thumbs up at him instead as she entered the house. At least, he thought that was her thumb she'd flipped him.

"May I take your automobile to retrieve the pizza, O'Neill?"

"The Mustang? Sure. Why?"

"It is legendary among its mode of transportation. I wish to experience this legend for myself."

Jack grinned and tossed him the keys. He followed around to the front of the house, interested to see Teal'c get into the small car. The big man frowned as he approached the vehicle, apparently just realizing its true proportions. He opened the door and sat inside, using his hands to bend his right knee high enough to get around the steering column. Left leg still on the ground, he tried to adjust the seat.

"That's as far back as it goes, buddy."

"Indeed." He pulled his other leg in with him and Jack slammed the door, half expecting the big man to shoot out the passenger side from the pressure of being contained in the small space. Teal'c's arm was pressed up against the glass and one knee was still visible from outside the car. The window slowly slid down, its little motor whining painfully as it struggled against the pressure of the arm crushed against it. Teal'c gratefully folded his left elbow through the opening.

"Are you sure about this?" Jack bent over to peer in the driver side window. He still couldn't see the top of Teal'c's head.

"It's not that bad," Daniel said from the passenger side. Easy for him to say, not having steering wheel or keys to invade his space.

"I am sure, O'Neill." He started the car and they sped off, tires squealing. Jack watched them zoom around the corner, sure the car would have flipped if it hadn't been so full of Teal'c and Daniel.

Night fell with an almost audible 'thump' on the eastern slope of the mountains, and the temperature was dropping with it. The remaining pair moved inside. Jack left the grill to burn itself out; time enough to clean it tomorrow. He flipped channels on the TV, hoping to find a good movie starting soon. He selected a station. The movie would start after the end of an episode of an old TV show; Daniel and Teal'c should be back just in time.

He settled back and sipped his beer. Carter was flopped in an armchair, drinking her own beer. They chatted idly, enjoying a relaxing evening, half-watching the TV.

Carter gasped, leaning closer to the screen.

"Carter?"

She bit her lip, sliding off the chair to her knees and cocking her head, staring at the TV from a closer position.

"Carter?" he repeated, watching a slow smile spread across her face as she watched the man on TV.

"His hair," she breathed. On screen, the wind rippled MacGyver's hair and the tall grass through which he was walking. "It's perfect."

Jack glanced back at the screen and shrugged. "It's ok. If you like that hippie look."

"Sir, will you be ok by yourself until Daniel and Teal'c get back?"

"They just went to get the pizza!" he snapped. "Of course, I'll be ok!" Just when you start to relax, someone twists that knife┘

"Sorry, sir, I just -- I need to go. I'll be back in a little while."

She left, and he was glad to see her go. Why did she have to say that? Will you be ok? Like he was some infant or something. He was still stewing about it when Daniel and Teal'c returned. Some of his humor returned as he saw them extracting themselves from the little car. Teal'c opened the door before attempting to roll up the window. He turned sideways, setting his feet on the ground, only to find himself trapped between seat and steering wheel. He half-turned back, putting his right leg back into the car, and then kind of shimmied out sideways. Daniel looked a little wobbly, maybe from being folded up into the front seat.

"So, how'd you like the car?"

"It handles well, even at great velocity."

"There are speed limits, you know," Daniel pointed out.

"I do not understand your agitation, Daniel Jackson. You have traveled at much greater speeds and endured much higher forces of gravity."

"Not in a _car_. He's a maniac!" Daniel complained. "Worse than you!"

"Is that a challenge I hear?" Jack pretended to be serious.

Daniel grumbled something under his breath and stalked into the kitchen with the pizza.

"Wait! I could take you off-roading when I get my new truck," Jack called after him. A cabinet door slammed in response. Jack grinned at Teal'c and led him into the kitchen.

"I don't know why you like that car so much. It's too small for you. And you're lucky you weren't pulled over by the police." Daniel shoved their box to one side so he could open his Hasta la Pizza Baby.

"It is you who were fortunate, Daniel Jackson."

"How?" he demanded.

"My driving license is restricted. As the licensed adult riding in the front seat, any violations would be charged to you."

Daniel's jaw dropped. "What? I didn't know┘ Oh, my god..." He walked away, pausing by the bar. He reached for a glass, then took the whole wine bottle instead.

Jack helped himself to some pizza, winding a long strand of melted cheese around his finger. He put the delicacy in his mouth, savoring the warm cheese and rich sauce. "You don't have a restricted license."

"True." Teal'c piled some pizza on his own plate, reaching back for the toppings that had fallen off.

"So you like the car, huh?"

"It has great entertainment value in addition to its power and handling."

They headed into the living room to join Daniel.

When Carter returned, the guys were in the middle of the movie. "Godzilla?" she asked incredulously as she took something from her purse.

Teal'c inclined his head. "We are endeavoring to determine which creature is paramount."

"Mothra." The Colonel said with conviction. "He gets to fly and he has those girls fawning over him." He grinned. "Sort of like being an officer in the Air Force."

Daniel rolled his eyes and changed the subject. "Where'd you go?"

"She needed some private time after seeing MacGyver." Jack was still stung by that 'will you be ok' thing. Although, if you thought about it, MacGyver would be a good match for Carter. Might even be good on an SG team. No, he corrected himself. He'd never trust his six to someone who would use a loaded AK-47 to bar a door instead of shooting back at the enemy.

She was still grinning. "I went to get the Colonel a microwave."

Daniel and Teal'c just looked at her funny, but Jack swiveled around, kneeling on the couch with his hands hooked over its back, movie forgotten. "You found one? Really?" He looked like a little boy hanging over the couch, face shining with hope that his mother had brought the toy of his dreams.

"Are not these devices readily available?"

"Microwaves are. But this isn't." She ran her fingers through her hair, from her temples back. The hair moved under her hands. And kept moving when she lowered them. It looked like a gentle breeze was blowing her hair. She smiled at them, delighted with her idea; the effect was remarkable, reminiscent of all those commercials and hair-product ads with the wind-blown effects.

"You look like a model," Daniel told her, surprised at the impact it made.

"You can, too." She ran her fingers through his hair and it, too, began to wave about him.

"It feels just like the wind." He turned his head side to side, noticing that the 'breeze' was always coming straight on from the front, no matter which way he turned.

"How did you do that?"

She raised her hands, starting to move them towards the Colonel, dropping again as she took in his close-cropped hair. "Remember WindWorld?" Her co always remembered his own names for planets better than the official designations. "They sprayed this stuff on the crops to keep the birds off. I thought of it when I saw the wind blowing the grass and MacGyver's hair. What do you think?" She turned her head each way, modeling for them. She bent down, putting her head next to Daniel's, and they both smiled, showing off the 'model' effect. "Will people buy this stuff?"

"It's soft, too!"

Jack turned to look at Daniel, lifted a hand to feel for himself. Felt Carter's instead. Ok, so he shouldn't be running his fingers through his second-in-command's hair. But if he was going to get busted for touching someone, it was darn well going to be a female. It was soft, very soft. It felt nice as it moved gently against his palm. He jerked his hand away, remembering himself. "I think they'll buy it."

He went to bed with hope that night; if the hair thing worked out it would solve all his budget woes, and maybe make some government-types happy as well.


	10. Chapter 10: Have a Nice Trip

oOo Chapter 10: Have A Nice Trip, See You In The Fall

He'd had the dream again, of course, but had seen that his team was well afterwards. He'd left them in the dining hall, talking about the hair gel. Laura hadn't been in the psychiatrists' waiting room this time, and he wondered what she had done to earn a reprieve from the daily routine. He sat across from McKenzie now, wishing he had had his own stay of emotional execution.

"So, can I see the field reports?" He tried to be casual about it, as if it had just occurred to him to ask.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I just like to know all the details. I read all their mission reports you know, to get their perspective on things."

"Mmmm-hmmmm."

Jack hated when he did that. He bet McKenzie knew it, too. Nothing said a psychiatrist couldn't enjoy bugging people. It might even be a job requirement.

"I would prefer that you remember whatever you think you are missing on your own. Afterwards, you can see the reports to fill in the details. Is there anything in particular you would like to discuss to perhaps jog your memory?"

"No."

"Colonel, I realize you are reluctant to talk about your experiences, and your feelings. Whether you believe it or not, you do need to do it. I can't clear you for full duty until you do."

_That's the only reason I'm here, Doc_, he thought to himself.

"I have, however, cleared you for a light mission." He watched his patient's surprise, saw the eager hope fade to suspicion. "Just one mission, Colonel. A very light one. I think you need some time in the field with your team. General Hammond needs some samples from an uninhabited planet."

"Thanks, Doc." Jack didn't care why, he was just glad to get away from psychiatrists, therapy, and budgets!

oOo#

Daniel paced another loop around his living room, noticed the sentry on the late late movie making another patrol of his own, and resisted the urge to call out "Two o'clock and all's not well!"

Not with him, anyway, much as he was trying to be a team player.

He had learned a lot in the past few weeks. And he didn't like what he had discovered.

Jack spoke Arabic. It wasn't so much the surprise itself; it was the timing. He had known Jack for how long? And the man had never once mentioned that he knew any other languages, even though he knew languages were Daniel's passion. He couldn't say why, exactly, but he felt as if his friend had betrayed him in some small way by not sharing something like that. Maybe he would have forgotten about it if it hadn't been for the other unpleasant surprises that had followed.

Jack had wanted to use the stolen airplane as a bribe to get them to the next town. Sure, it seemed practical on the surface; and saving their cash would have made the rest of their trip easier. But didn't it occur to him that it was just wrong? It wasn't theirs to sell. It's owner had done nothing to them; why should he have to fight to get his plane back? To be fair, Jack had let him leave the plane and use up nearly all their cash instead. But to Daniel's mind, there should never have been a question about it, let alone the argument they had had at the little airstrip.

It wasn't their only philosophical argument on the trip, either.

Daniel had stopped in front of an inn, where the innkeeper woman was enticing customers with her cooking. It had smelled just like his mother's, and he had told her so. He reminisced about his childhood, unable to resist the opportunity to talk to someone who would understand. She had let him cook a couple of flatbreads on the little outdoor stove, and tears stung his eyes at the memory of doing that with his mother. The sights, the smells, the kind and slightly amused woman had all made him terribly homesick. Homesick for his innocent and happy childhood in the desert. It was a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. He didn't even have to worry about his friends; Teal'c was involved in some kind of contest, and Carter was playing street games with Jack as her interpreter.

The kindly woman had insisted he take a room for free. It would be like having her nephew to visit. And when she had seen that her adopted nephew had his ailing grandmother with him, she had fed the whole 'family' at her own table.

A wonderful, sweet, poignant, memory-making day.

Until Jack complimented him on sweet-talking the innkeeper woman.

Jack really thought it was just a con. Daniel's way of contributing to their combined room and board on the trail home. How could he? How could Jack not realize what this had meant to him? Sure, when Jack saw how much his 'compliment' had hurt Daniel, he tried to backpedal, but it wasn't the same. He knew Jack didn't see it the same way as he did.

Did anyone around the SGC see things the way he did? He had thought he was making some headway, making a difference, but he wasn't. Not with Jack, for sure, and probably not with anyone.

Hammond had surprised him, too. The General had come to him, to Daniel's office, shortly after their discovery that Jack might be alive. The rarity of a personal visit should have warned him. Hammond had told him that the Internet 'sale' was real, and updated him on the plans to retrieve Jack. Military rescue was too risky; Jack's 'owners' would dispose of him before being caught with him. They would have to buy the Colonel back. Daniel remembered the moment with clarity. Hammond had been looking around the room as he talked, idly fingering relics, reminding him for all the world of Jack toying with irreplaceable artifacts. Hammond had stopped fiddling and looked him straight in the eye. And asked him which non-technical, not-yet-catalogued treasures they could sell.

"They're priceless!" he had objected, shocked that anyone, much less the General, would suggest such a thing.

"Price one, anyway," the General had responded.

Price one anyway. _Price one anyway_. He could still hardly believe it. These weren't _things_ at a garage sale! They were, they were┘ he couldn't even put it into words. It was like asking a parent to price one of his children. How could the General, a man he looked up to almost like a father...

It hit him then. Hammond was being asked to price his children. One -- Jack -- already had a price tag. A big one. And to pay it, Hammond had to make some hard decisions. He couldn't sacrifice anything related to the security of the planet, not even for Jack. And there weren't many other things that would bring a high enough price. Except possibly the relics. If he'd have thought about it, he would have realized the risks that the General was taking. Hammond had to have known that it could cost him Daniel's respect and possibly the General's own freedom, if his creative funding were discovered and prosecuted as theft.

At the time, though, Daniel had been too shocked to think clearly. He had defended his irreplaceable artifacts, even standing between the General and the shelves full of history and learning and wonder. The government had plenty of money -- they printed the stuff, for crying out loud! -- they didn't need to come to him. Hammond had backed down, never said another word. Daniel wondered now, what the General had done to get the money. Did he just pose the same question to someone else, trusting that Daniel would never find out? Or did he support Daniel's principles? Did Hammond consider principles a guideline, like Jack did, or an immutable law, like Daniel did?

He sat down to think about the value of values. A headache was forming behind his eyes, and he rubbed his temples. These issues were so much easier when they were hypothetical; and he wasn't sure he liked the results of facing them in reality. Maybe he'd even talk to Dr McKenzie about it in the morning before the doctor's mandatory pre-mission meeting with him, Sam and Teal'c.

God, what was he thinking? Talk to McKenzie? On purpose? _Get a grip, Daniel._ He could almost hear Jack's voice saying it. Jack, who had supported him countless times. Who fought for him regularly, in the field and the briefing room. Who deserved his support, no matter what happened on the trip home.

oOo#

"Nice campsite, Jack."

"All right, Jackson. What are you up to?" Jack demanded.

He opened his mouth to swear innocence, but closed it again when Jack glared at him. "McKenzie said you could use a pat on the back," he said sheepishly.

Jack dropped his head in disgust. The portly psycho-trying-ist was making his presence known a zillion miles from home.

"Guess I didn't do a very good job," Daniel said.

Jack sighed. "You did fine, Daniel. I was glad you liked the direction we walked. And the pace. And the rest break. You just overdid it." He paused. Started to laugh. "Besides, he didn't mean it that way."

"What did he mean?"

"He meant it literally. Like this." He patted Daniel's back. "He has some weird idea of what we do in the field. Thinks we spend a lot of time touching each other."

"Why?" he asked the question slowly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Jack laughed again. "Don't worry, Daniel. I wouldn't go for you even if you were the last man on Earth √ er, whatever they call this place."

"Glad to hear it," Daniel muttered, staring at his coffee mug as he took a sip.

"Seriously, I appreciate the effort." He grinned. "Good job, Dr Jackson!" He patted his friend on the back.

"Why thank you, Colonel!" Daniel patted Jack on the back.

"And let's not forget Teal'c bravely watching us go nuts. Good job, T!" He patted the Jaffa.

Teal'c clapped a hand on O'Neil's shoulder in return, knocking him forward half a step. "I am pleased that you noticed my ignorance!"

"It's 'indifference', Teal'c," Daniel corrected.

"What is the difference?"

"I don't know and I don't care!" the linguist quipped.

"Good one, Daniel!" Jack clapped him on the back.

"Couldn't have done it without Teal'c!" Daniel patted the big man's back.

"Looks like you're all having fun." Carter walked into camp, back from her latrine trip.

"We are, aren't we?" Daniel laughed, enjoying the moment, and patted Jack on the back again.

"Indeed," Teal'c agreed. "Dr McKenzie ordered that we touch one another. Please join us."

One look at Carter's face and Jack burst out laughing. He clapped Teal'c on the back. The Jaffa looked pleased and slapped the Colonel's shoulder.

"Uh, sir?" She was still standing a solid ten feet away.

"It's ok, Carter." He explained McKenzie's theory, still smiling. It felt good to laugh again.

She smiled tentatively, and crossed over to them. "Happy to help, Colonel." She patted him on the back. "But┘ do you mind if I check your canteens?"

He laughed again, slapping her on the shoulder, and she smiled genuinely this time.

"Feeling better, Jack?" Daniel asked, patting him on the back again.

"Yep. But you know, you forgot to compliment me on the weather!"

"Sam handled the weather, Jack."

"I stand corrected. Good job on the weather, Carter!" He patted her on the back.

oOo

When Jack relieved Teal'c from watch that night, he couldn't resist asking. "He knew all along, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"So why all the phony compliments?"

"He believed he would be severely injured if he started touching you for no reason."

It was hard to tell when the big guy was making a joke. Jack decided that it was, and chuckled. "Wise man."

It was Teal'c's turn to wonder. Did that mean that O'Neill believed Daniel Jackson to have shown good judgement? Or was it his way of saying 'smart ass'?

oOo

"So, Carter, what looks good, sample-wise?"

"I was thinking the ridge there," she waved with her coffee cup, "and also by the stream. I already have some from the campsite."

"Ok, Daniel, Teal'c, you take the stream. Carter and I will take the ridge. Don't forget to pick some flowers."

"Flowers?"

"Gotta have some flowers from the Pansy Planet."

"Pansy Planet?"

"Is there an echo here?" He grinned. "Pansy flowers." He gestured to the acres of dappled blooms stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions. "Pansy mission." He rolled his eyes. "Pansy Planet. You got a better name? And don't say P3X-992."

"Fine. Pansy Planet it is." Daniel shook his head in disgust.

They finished up breakfast and headed off on their tasks. It really would be an easy mission. Jack suspected they had triple checked the place before sending him out on this trial run. He didn't expect to find so much as a mosquito to cause trouble.

Jack looked around from the top of the ridge, enjoying the view, and keeping an eye on his other two teammates just in case. He slid his weapon around to his back to access his front vest pocket, wondering if even his binoculars could pick up the end of the flower patch.

Carter crouched to take some samples, moving around a bit and ending near Jack's boots. She finished and picked a flower to give her smart-aleck commander. She rose, stepping back a bit from him to give him his personal space. The edge gave way suddenly beneath her feet.

She lunged forward, trying to avoid the fall, and her torso thudded heavily to the ground, her legs swinging in mid air. The air whooshed from her lungs and she scrabbled for a hold, feeling herself sliding. Then a strong hand gripped her wrist and pulled.

Jack had jumped back when the ridge gave. Now, keeping his feet on hopefully-solid ground, he leaned over as far as he could to grab his second's wrist. His P-90 swung around off his shoulder and thumped her in the back. She grunted at the impact. "Sorry, Carter."

She slid up onto the ground beside him, and he towed her another few feet away from the edge just in case. He crouched next to her, helping her roll onto one side, reminding her that it would be easier to regain her breath that way. He kept a protective hand on her, and turned his head to re-check on his other teammates. They seemed fine.

Carter wheezed and groaned beneath his hand, and he listened intently to the sound. No sharp hissing from seriously broken ribs, and none of that gross wet sucking sound that meant damaged lungs. He waited until her breathing eased, before rolling her gently onto her back. Time for triage. "Carter? You ok?"

"I think so, sir." She lay back, resting.

He felt her ribs and pressed her belly, watching her for signs of pain. She grimaced a bit, but nothing like the response broken ribs or internal injuries would garner. "Anywhere else hurt?"

"No. Think I just got the wind knocked out of me."

"Good."

She made a face at him.

"You know what I mean. Better than broken ribs and stuff. Take a break. We'll head back to camp when you're ready."

They took their time walking back to camp. Jack installed her in her tent and told her to rest. He brought her a canteen and a handful of flowers. "Get well soon!"

She rewarded him with a smile and took her break reading something on her pocked-sized computer.


	11. Chapter 11: Got to be a Morning After

oOo Chapter 11: There's Got To Be A Morning After

Dr McKenzie watched with foreboding as his primary patient walked out of the office. This had been a significant session, he was sure of that. He just wasn't entirely what the significance of it was.

O'Neill had come in more relaxed than he had seen him since his experience. Almost happy. McKenzie had been pleased; the mission had had the desired result. He'd even told the Colonel he'd discuss it with Dr Standish and that another light mission might be within consideration.

O'Neill had had some sort of a breakthrough. There was a moment of absolute shock on his face, and then he had gone still. McKenzie wouldn't even have been sure he'd seen the look if it hadn't been for the stillness. O'Neill had seemed calm, had finished his session in a reasonable fashion. But he hadn't fidgeted or twitched or shifted around once.

He'd realized or remembered something. Something big. That was good. But he didn't want to talk about it. That was bad. The difficulty was in figuring out how bad. The Colonel might just need some time to consider whatever he'd thought of. Or he might act out in some way that his possibly confused mind deemed appropriate. In McKenzie's experience, it was more often the latter than the former.

He looked down at his notes, re-reading what he had just written. _Patient had strong reaction, possibly a breakthrough of some kind, when I said I would discuss the possibility of another mission with Dr Standish._ Maybe it wasn't the thought of going out again that had spooked the Colonel. Maybe it was the thought of not going. Either way, he had inadvertently placed the responsibility for that decision on Dr Standish.

He had to find his colleague before O'Neill did.


	12. Chapter 12: I Hate Surprises

oOo Chapter 12: Didn't I Tell You I Hate Surprises?

Laura was working on a presentation in an AV room when she suddenly found herself in a painful, vice-like grip.

"Did you enjoy your little covert op, _Doctor_?"

"Jack! I was just -- ow!"

He intensified the pressure and she gasped, trying to squirm away. "Just what, _Doctor_?"

"Just trying to help. I -"

That angered him all the more and he increased the pressure again.

God! That hurt! "I helped you!" she objected.

"By pretending to be a friend?!"

"No! That was real. I swear!" She was all but whimpering now, begging him to believe her.

"You _doctors_ always talk shop about your _friends_?"

"He doesn't know! I could lose my license for this!"

He considered her words. Before he could reply, the door opened and the lights came on fully, McKenzie stood there, looking stunned. "Security!" He yelled.

Jack promptly released the woman and she stepped back, smoothing her jacket. He looked at her, waiting to hear what she would say.

"No need for that, Dr McKenzie. Colonel O'Neill was just┘ showing me a self defense tactic."

"In a dark conference room?" He asked skeptically.

"Uh... " She said

"Just making a point. She was so engrossed in her presentation that she didn't see it coming."

"I see," he said in that professional tone that Jack hated. "We can discuss it more in our session tomorrow. And, for the record, any further approvals about your activities will be signed off by _all_ of the psychiatrists." His confidence grew as the security officers arrived. "I'll also ask you not to conduct any more self-defense training until you are cleared for active duty."

"Doctor, if you please?" he waved her out in front of him. There was no way he was letting O'Neill have access to her until he understood what was going on. That bigshot bastard might be second in command of the base, but that didn't give him the right to push his staff around.

oOo

"I am not sending Colonel O'Neill off base, for any length of time."

"General. I just want him safely away while I do my evaluation. He's a dangerous man. And he knows how to hurt people."

"Every one on this base knows how to hurt people," the General pointed out, enjoying the discomfited look On McKenzie's face as the man realized that he was one of the few people on base who would _not_ be classified as dangerous in hand to hand combat. "No one on this base does it for fun."

"I know what I saw," he insisted. "I think he was trying to coerce her."

"To do what? You're his therapist."

"So she'd persuade me to send him on another mission."

"Why not coerce you to persuade her to send him on another mission? He has daily access to you."

"She's a woman. An easier target."

The General couldn't suppress a smile at that. As if the Colonel would have the least trouble intimidating the pompous psychiatrist! Aloud, he said, "I disagree. I know the man. He wouldn't do that."

"I know what I saw," he repeated. "He was hurting her."

"What does Doctor Standish say about this?"

"That he was showing her some self defense move."

"And that doesn't seem more reasonable to you than a decorated officer beating up a woman at work? And doing it after she gave him what you claim he wanted? She agreed to the first mission. By all accounts, it was a success. Why would he think she wouldn't approve a second?"

McKenzie hesitated; he hadn't thought about that. "It must be worse than I thought. I wonder if there's a pattern..."

"I wonder if you're the one who needs to be evaluated?" Hammond asked incredulously. "The people involved have given a perfectly reasonable explanation for what you saw. The woman has no marks on her to support your claim. This matter is closed."

oOo

"So. Major, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, sir. If I may ask, why am I here?" It was hard to see how anything good could come from being unexpectedly called to the psychiatrist's office.

"Just a follow-up after being injured on your recent mission."

She looked surprised. "It was just some cuts and bruises."

"And how did you get them?"

"A ledge broke away under me."

Interesting, he thought, that she described it that way. "How far did you fall?"

"Just a few feet- the Colonel caught me and pulled me back up. Look. I don't see what the big deal is. We've all had worse injuries."

"The Colonel pulled you up? Where were the other members of your team?"

"By the stream. About a mile away."

"Could they have heard or seen you fall?"

She was wary suddenly. Was he suggesting they hadn't followed procedure? "It's just not possible for all of us to stay together at all times. It's SOP to split up in pairs. The Colonel could have called them on the radio if I'd fallen."

"I thought you said you did fall?"

"I did. The Colonel caught me."

"Then how were you injured?"

"It was just bruises! From the ledge."

"On your belly, What about the large bruise on your back?"

"The Colonel's P90 hit me when he caught my hand."

"He pulled you up by the hand?"

"Yes."

McKenzie made a note- she had had bruising on her wrist, yet claimed she was pulled up by her hand.

"That's all there was to it? You slipped and he grabbed your hand?"

"Yes. No worse than if I'd tripped on the stairs here."

"I see." Interesting that she should choose that particular metaphor. He made a note. A certain Lieutenant Hinton had, in fact, tripped on the stairs here. And was saved by one Colonel O'Neill. No damage other than a sprained wrist. From where he caught her. "And will you still pair off on missions?"

"When it's appropriate."

"Do you always pair off the same way?"

"No. It depends on what we're doing."

"And do you have any feelings about that?"

"I don't understand."

"A frightening thing happened to you. It would be perfectly understandable if you felt safer being assigned away from... ledges? Or with, say. Mr Teal'c?"

Was he suggesting that she should be reassigned? "Of course not! I am not afraid of heights. And if anything I should be more comfortable with the Colonel since he saved me."

"But you're not?"

"I didn't say that!" God. She hated this man and the way he twisted words around. "I do not have the least qualm about going out to do my job."

"You seem to be reacting strongly to my question. Is there a reason why?"

"No. This was no big deal! I didn't even fall."

"There's nothing to get excited about. Major. Unless you have anything you'd like to talk about?"

"No. I told you. I'm fine."

"If there's any thing you want to talk about, I'm always available. And our records are confidential. Not even the General gets access."

"Sir. I'm fine. I don't have anything to discuss. This was a routine mission."

"Glad to hear it, major. If you decide otherwise, I'm always here to talk."

oOo

Jack's watched from his desk as Carter closed the office door behind her. Something serious must have happened.

"Carter. What's up?" She looked somewhere between angry and upset.

"Sir, did you speak to Dr. McKenzie about me?"

"What? God, no. I'd shoot ya before l'd ever consider that!"

She relaxed somewhat. Dropped into a chair. "Well, someone did."

"What??"

"He asked a lot of questions about the Pansy Planet."

His mouth tightened. Should have known the shrink would check up on him. Probably grilled Daniel and Teal'c, too. Her next words couldn't have surprised him more.

"He asked about the ledge breaking away. Like he had some reason to think it scared me off."

"That was no big deal!" he objected.

"That's what I told him. Then he asked if I'd feel better if I were reassigned."

"What! No way! There is no frickin' way you're going anywhere!" He half rose in anger, the words loud in the closed office.

She smiled. His reaction was obviously genuine. "Thanks, sir. That's all I needed to know."

He rounded the desk to her side. "Look, Carter, we'll.."

He never finished the sentence. The door banged open and there was McKenzie, looking quickly around and seeing the Colonel standing over the Major.

"I heard raised voices. Are you ok, Major?"

"She's fine," Jack snapped, annoyed that he could possibly think otherwise. Did someone tell him that Carter'd become a basket case or something?

"The Major is a grown woman, Colonel. She should be able to answer for herself."

"I'm fine," she supplied automatically.

"Good. If you have a moment, Major. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Can't it wait?" Jack asked. "We were having a discussion of our own here."

"Of course," he said. "I'll just wait in the hall here."

Jack shut the door behind him. Looked at Carter. "What the hell was that about?"

"That's what I was telling you. He thinks I've gone chicken shit or something."

"Why?"

"I don't know! Nothing happened."

"I'll get to the bottom of this, Carter. Don't worry about it."

When she left the office, McKenzie was waiting as promised. She started walking and let him catch up.

"Major. I couldn't help but overhear the Colonel say you're not going anywhere." He said quietly. "I can help you get a transfer if that's what you were asking for."

"No! I don't want a transfer! I want to stay with SG-1. I don't know what you're getting at. But I'm fine."

oOo

Jack was looking for Carter, to tell her his investigation hadn't turned up anything yet, and just to see how she was doing. He found her atop the Stargate, some technical looking tool in hand. He half smiled, pleased that even underground she'd found a way to demonstrate that she was not afraid of heights, and angry that she felt she needed to do so.

McKenzie turned up at his shoulder. Was the man watching Carter?

"Been talking to Carter a lot lately?" He asked casually.

"Yes," the doctor confirmed with a knowing look.

Jack wanted to punch him. Instead, he gave a low whistle. Carter heard the field signal and looked up from her task and waved. He gave a few hand motions, field signals to meet up in three hours, then finished by flipping his middle finger up then pointing in McKenzie's direction. She grinned and nodded.

"What was that?" the doctor asked suspiciously.

"That's how we communicate in the field. She can't hear us from way up there, you know. Too high." He hoped McKenzie had taken note that she was calmly working high off the floor. He should take the opportunity to try to pump the doctor for information about his interest in Carter, but Jack knew that he was too angry about the whole thing right now to do it effectively. At least this was a situation that didn't revolve around him; Jack was sick to death of daily therapy and solicitous inquiries about his health and implied questions of his fitness. He wished everyone would just leave him alone for a while.


	13. Chapter 13: Simmons

oOo Chapter 13: Simmons

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Hammond was supposed to be there first. Jack had dawdled long enough that he was sure he'd earn one of the General's disapproving looks for his tardiness, if not a public comment about it.

Lateness didn't look good in the military. And Hammond liked to look good, needed to look good, to the government and military outside the base.

Although, if he'd been on time, it would be Simmons who would be late. As in dead. Gone. Body zatted into non-existence.

"Irritating, obnoxious, government guys? Haven't seen a one, General. Honest." Yeah, Hammond would believe that. Not. Why wasn't he here? He was supposed to be here first, to be the buffer between him and Simmons.

Jack had arrived first. To find Simmons in rare form, angry already at being kept waiting.

It had taken maybe five minutes for Simmons to get under his skin.

"If you'd done your job, Colonel, you wouldn't have been caught."

_Don't kill. Don't kill. Don't kill._ "You read my report. My actions were reasonable." No way was Simmons going to get him to talk about the details of being taken captive by Special Ops.

Simmons snorted. "Of course, you would write the report that way. Covering your ass, as usual. Your very expensive ass."

_Make me sound like a hooker, why don't you?_ "We don't leave people behind. Hammond had an opportunity to get a person back, and he took it."

"At a very high cost," Simmons reminded him. "Those funds could have been put to better use."

Jack just stared. Even Simmons couldn't have said what he just heard. Even _Simmons_ wouldn't leave a man, his countryman, to be slowly tortured to death just to save money.

"Why so surprised, Colonel?" Simmons rose, walked toward him. "The vaunted Colonel O'Neill. Never been broken by human nor alien." Simmons' tone made it clear he didn't believe it. "The General has plenty of good men eager to take your place. So why was he so desperate to have you back," he leaned close, one hand on Jack's chair, lowering his voice. "_if _it's really true that you wouldn't talk?"

He stood back up. "A lapse on the General's part? Letting his personal feelings cloud his better judgment?" He tut-tutted. "Can't have that when you're running a program of this importance." He passed behind Jack and started walking back toward his chair. "Or maybe it wasn't an error in judgment? Maybe the General knew that you would talk. He was afraid you'd sing like a little birdie and put the program in jeopardy?"

Jack was holding on to the arms of his chair so hard he thought they'd break. _Don't kill. Don't kill. Don't kill. He's trying to make you lose your temper. He wants it on the security camera. Don't let him win._

Simmons sat down and looked Jack right in the eye. "I intend to find out which of you is the risk here, Colonel. And put a stop to it." He leaned back in his chair. "After all, it is my patriotic duty to protect this planet."

"I'm glad there's something we can agree on," the General said from the doorway.

"General," Simmons acknowledged, standing. "We were just discussing the Stargate program's budget shortfall."

Hammond cocked his head. "There is no budget shortfall here."

"Now, General," Simmons began in that mock-reasonable tone. "You can't bury an outlay of that size. Senator Kinsey has seen to it that you can't misuse the slush-funds for your own dubious purposes. Action will have to be taken to make up the cost of recovering Colonel O'Neill." He shot a glance at Jack. "I hope he's worth it."

"I wouldn't presume to put a price on any human life, Colonel Simmons. And as far as Colonel O'Neill goes, he has saved the planet. More than once. And he may do it again another day. Can you put a price on that?"

"Apparently you can," he said snidely. "Which brings us back to the budget. How do you intend to make up for the shortfall?"

"I don't know where you get your information, Colonel. There is no shortfall, as will be clear in our quarterly report. Now, if you have nothing further to discuss┘"

"Ignoring the problem won't make it go away."

Hammond narrowed his eyes, looking angry, feeling hopeful. Maybe he could turn this around, force Simmons to admit who he was working for. "Are you accusing a superior officer of impropriety, _Colonel_?"

"I am merely pointing out that there must be compensation for an outlay of this size. General."

"And where exactly did you get your information about any of our expenses, Colonel?" Again the emphasis on rank.

Simmons was starting to look nervous. "That is not the issue here. Sir."

"It is the issue if you are accusing us of something. I want to know who has been feeding you incorrect information, and costing this command the time and effort to address nonexistent issues when we have far better things to do."

"I'll┘ send you a report, General. As soon as I get back to my office."

"See that you do. I'll expect it in the morning, Colonel."

Simmons stalked out.

Jack closed the door behind him. "What are we going to do about the budget, sir?" It was the first time he'd mentioned the topic to his superior officer. "Take it out of my paycheck?"

"For the next hundred years," Hammond chuckled. "I was serious, Jack. The bulk of the funds have been contributed by a┘ private investor. The rest won't be a problem to make up with some minor cuts."

"A private investor?" What the hell did that mean? "You didn't... sell me... to someone else, did you?" He said it as a joke. Meant it as a joke. Hoped it was a joke. Held his breath anyway as he waited to hear the answer.

Hammond laughed. "No, Jack. We're keeping you."

"So who's the private investor?"

"Dr Jackson sold the Eye of Ra medallion that Katherine gave him before the Abydos mission. Apparently, it is quite valuable."

More than you know, General, Jack thought. To Daniel, it had been priceless. Mostly because that medallion represented Abydos and Sha're and Skaara and Kasouf. But the man was also an archaeologist. Giving an artifact to a museum was good and honorable. Selling one was almost blasphemy. He hadn't even sold it to buy back his best friend, trusting instead that the General would find another way to get the money. But he had sold it in the end, against all his principles and sentiments, to show Jack how much he was worth. He decided to bend a few of his own principles and have a heart-to-heart talk with Daniel about it over the campfire that night.

He never got the chance.

oOo#

"I heard Major Carter was here. How is she?"

"She'll be fine, Doc. We'll tell her you stopped by." Jack steered him toward the infirmary door.

McKenzie looked around, noticed that Daniel and Teal'c were both uninjured. "You do that," he said, "Tell her I'll stop by later. Doctor Fraiser, I'd like a copy of her medical report. I can see that the rest of SGI is fine. Again."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Doctor Fraiser asked. Jack was glad the question came from her.

"The Colonel is well aware of what I'm talking about."

"I'm well aware that you have been making unwarranted accusations about Carter." The Colonel snapped. "Now put up or shut up," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Is that what you told _her_?"


	14. Chapter 14: He Lost His Marbles

oOo Chapter 14: He Lost His Marbles

The General sighed, looking at his second in command. "Why, Jack?"

"I guess I lost control, sir."

Hammond glared at him. It had taken six Security Officers to pull Jack off of McKenzie. "Six SFs? And all uninjured? McKenzie in a lot of pain, but not with a lot if marks on him? You did not lose control. You deliberately hurt him."

It was hard to put one over on the General. "I did lose it, sir. For a moment."

That would be the fractured jaw and broken ribs, the General thought.

"Then... I guess I wanted to punish him for what he did to Carter."

And that would be all those painful spots without marks -- Jack's retribution.

"She never would have tried something so risky if she wasn't trying to prove she wasn't a coward. I'm not proud of what l did, sir, but he did deserve it."

"What's this about Major Carter?"

Jack told him about McKenzie's innuendos, his offer to get her a transfer. Hammond listened with a sinking feeling. He knew what this was about. But how could he tell Jack without him going back to finish off McKenzie? He decided not to tell him. He would have that discussion with Major Carter and McKenzie. Together, so McKenzie could see her reaction, see how ridiculous this whole thing was. He hoped it would be enough to convince the obstinate doctor.

He sighed. "I'll look into the whole thing. In the meantime, I am ordering you to stay away from Dr McKenzie and the infirmary." He raised a hand as Jack started to object. "I'll see that you are kept updated regarding Major Carter, but for the time being you are not to communicate with her, either."

"General!"

"May I remind you that you are currently accused of attacking a fellow officer?" Hammond hated to do that to him, but he knew it would head off the man's temper.

Jack reluctantly dropped the objection. "What about that, General? Am I still under arrest?" McKenzie could really get him for this. For that matter, so could the SFs.

"Keeping you in a holding cell would ensure you stay out of trouble," Hammond agreed, watching his second's face. "And it might even appease Dr McKenzie." He paused for effect. Even if this wasn't the heart of the matter, it still wouldn't hurt to send the message-- incongruous as it might seem in a military facility-- that violence wasn't the solution to all problems. "However," he began slowly, picking up a sheaf of papers from his desk, "the SFs report that an orderly spilled a bag of marbles, and that you slipped on them and fell onto Dr McKenzie."

"Marbles, sir?" His careful tone tried to hide his surprise.

"Apparently, one of the orderlies is quite a collector."

"I...see."

"They say that you made several unsuccessful attempts to regain your balance, and they tried to assist." Hammond looked back at the reports. "While you fell on both them and Dr McKenzie, several times, they were impressed that no injuries were sustained beyond the first regrettable slip."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me, Colonel. I'm just responding to the reports that were filed."

"Yes, sir. I understand." Nice to know he had friends in the SFs. He rose to leave.

"One more thing, Colonel."

Jack turned back.

"Please do not discuss Dr McKenzie's alleged accusations about Major Carter with anyone, especially the SFs. Apparently, they were quite incensed that he questioned her character."

"Understood, General." So it wasn't he who had the friends in the SFs.

oOo

She woke to find Teal'c at her bedside. She blinked to clear her vision, and attempted a small smile.

He inclined his head gracefully in acknowledgement. "It is good to see you awaken, Major Carter." He held a glass of water for her, his large hand making the paper cup seem small.

She finished drinking and sighed, settling back into the pillows. Her body ached, and her eyelids felt like lead weights, but she wasn't ready to sleep again yet. She remembered...something. Something important. She felt herself drifting off, and fought the temptation. She needed to know... her eyes opened all the way. "Daniel was here."

"Indeed. He is resting, but he will return. I will stay by your side."

"You need to rest, too. I'll be fine."

"I have given O'Neill my word that I will stay by your side."

The Colonel. That was what had been driving her away from the cozy fog of the pain medicine and toward wakefulness. The Colonel wasn't here. Hadn't been here at all, as far as she knew. "The Colonel...is he ok?"

"He is uninjured."

"Oh." He saw her face fall before she rallied. "Good. I'm glad he's ok." She wasn't looking at him. The Colonel was so disappointed in her that he didn't even check on her.

Teal'c guessed what she was thinking. "O'Neill is forbidden to see or speak with you."

Her head snapped up. "What? Why?"

"O'Neill holds Dr McKenzie responsible for your injury. There was an altercation. O'Neill is now forbidden entry into the infirmary and contact with McKenzie or you until the matter is resolved."

This was difficult for her to follow. He watched her eyes glaze and refocus, only to glaze over again. She would not remember this conversation. That allowed him to speak freely, where normally he would keep his own counsel.

"I am concerned for O'Neill."

"It'll be ok, T," her voice was growing fuzzy again. "He'll do his punishment and it'll go 'way."

"I am not concerned about the disciplinary action. He will bear it well." Indeed, these humans had very simplistic punishment rituals; few of them even involved physical pain. He had no fear for O'Neill in that area.

"I am concerned for his mind."

Her eyes faced him, but they were glazed again. She was trying to follow his words, but it was difficult.

"He fears for you in this place, though he will not say for what reason. He tried to have you transferred to the public hospital, but Dr Fraiser did not allow it." Teal'c did not understand his friend's fear; the infirmary was a place of physical care and safety, surely more secure than a public facility. And Teal'c and Daniel would remain by her side, as they always did when one of them was recovering. Still, the agitated O'Neill had stopped just short of a direct order to keep Major Carter under heavy guard. "Do you know the source of his concern?"

Carter's half-sedated mind fastened on the one phrase that frightened her most. _He tried to have you transferred_._ Tried to have you transferred, tried to have you transferred_, her own mind mocked her with the words. He had said he would fix things. She had trusted him, and he tried to have her transferred. "_No,"_ she whispered. "_No..."_

"It does not matter," Teal'c told her firmly. "He has his reasons, as always." Actually, the big man doubted that there were factual reasons behind his friend's odd behavior. Still, he would guard his teammate every moment, if only for O'Neill's peace of mind. But it would be far easier to defend her from a known threat than this unknown menace that left O'Neill pacing about his office like a caged tiger. "We will not speak of it again."

He would think about it, though. He had been thinking much about it in the days since his friend's return. O'Neill had been tortured, and starved, and deprived of sleep for weeks. Any of those conditions, and most certainly the combination of the three, would confuse a man's mind. He had seen it in many liberated warriors, had himself induced such conditions in enemy Jaffa to gain information from them. He suspected that O'Neill had also been subjected to deception and trickery during his captivity, as he had refused to believe in his own rescue until presented with the incontrovertible proof of Junior's presence.

Teal'c had been pleased to be the one to return O'Neill to his senses, to convince him that he was indeed among friends once again. He knew full well that it would take days at least for the doubts to recede, for the former captive to cease to question his freedom. For that reason he had stayed close to O'Neill, not overtly comforting him-- he doubted the warrior would accept any such comfort-- but always being present, a silent and steady support in an unspoken time of need. The effort was not in vain; he could sense that his own nearness calmed O'Neill when the memories weighed heavily upon him.

Perhaps it was merely the fact that he, alone among the group, could prove his identity beyond any deception. Twice on the journey home, O'Neill had seemed to withdraw, sitting apart and watching his companions tensely. Teal'c recognized the signs of disbelief and suspicion returning; it was not uncommon for recent escapees to question their good fortune, particularly if they had been given false freedom by their captors. He did not attempt to speak of it, for what words would be trusted? Instead, he calmly sat down and cleaned the lips of his pouch. In plain view, which he had never done in the past. Far from turning away, O'Neill had watched the simple hygiene procedure raptly. Proof of safety; life-giving water to a man trapped in a desert of doubt.

The bizarre ritual forced upon O'Neill by Dr McKenzie did not assist in his recovery. Teal'c saw no sense whatsoever in subjecting a man who had just been tortured incessantly, and whose nerves were already on edge, to an hour of continual touch daily. In fact, it seemed designed to prolong the recovery by keeping the memories vivid.

Perhaps that was the cause? He was relieved by that idea; O'Neill simply required additional time to overcome the events because of the Tau'ri's odd insistence that he dwell upon the memories.

Teal'c focused on his own thoughts as Carter's eyes glazed over again. Had he looked closer, he would have noticed that they were brimming with unshed tears.

Carter was too engrossed in her own misery to continue the conversation with Teal'c. She had tried to prove her bravery, and had only demonstrated a lack of judgment. And now the Colonel had written her off. How long ago had he stopped believing in her? She had thought all those odd looks he had given her since their return meant nothing, but perhaps he had been showing his misgivings about her? What about before? Two more incidents came to mind. Her drug-fogged mind wandered.

_"Teal'c, you take first watch, then Daniel. I'll take last." They were working their way home with the injured Colonel._

_"What about me?"_

_"We need you to take care of the Colonel, Janet."_

_"He's sleeping. And probably will sleep for as long as we let him."_

_"If he wakes up, he'll need you."_

_"Then I'll wake you up."_

_"No, Janet."_

_"You don't trust me, do you?"_

_Sam sighed and looked her in the eye. If the doctor wasn't going to take the hint, she'd just have to take her medicine straight. "Janet, this is a covert operation. There is no backup. You are not prepared for this."_

_Janet had put her hands on her hips, taking her no-nonsense doctor pose. "I am a major in the air force, the same as you."_

_"I am a Colonel in the air force," came a voice from the bed. "And I'm ordering you to do what Carter says, Major Fraiser. And do it quietly; there's people trying to sleep around here." He hadn't even opened his eyes._

_"Yes, sir!" Janet snapped, not looking at either of them. She flopped down in a corner and started arranging her own blankets, jerking them angrily around._

_Sam sighed. She knew Janet wasn't sleeping; the woman's blankets were so stiff she could probably still bounce a quarter off them. She started to smile at the image, but the situation really wasn't funny. Janet hadn't accepted her orders, and that stung. Even so, she thought she was being a good commander, not giving in to a friend, sticking to the best defense she could manage under the circumstances she had. But the Colonel had felt the need to reinforce her command, clearly not convinced she could control the situation on her own. His lack of faith in her hurt more than she let on._

_Later, he had mentioned that event. In the infirmary, when he was asking for medical clearance to go home. He had patted her shoulder and made exaggerated reference to her military skills. She had been surprised by it, had thought it a joke. But maybe the joke was on her-- maybe he thought her a laughable soldier._

Her despondent mind gave in to the comfort of the drugs, and she fell into a troubled sleep.


	15. Chapter 15: Backup Plans

oOo Chapter 15: Backup Plans

Dr McKenzie peered suspiciously through the eyehole in his front door. An Air Force officer, in dress uniform, stood there. He opened the door a few inches. It had better not be another damn prank. He almost slammed the door again when he saw that the uniform had eagles on it. A Colonel, like O'Neill. Another stupid joke.

The tall man smiled at him. "Dr McKenzie?"

"What do you want?"

"I'd like to speak with you, sir. About the incident last Tuesday."

McKenzie glared at the prankster and closed the door. This was so unfair! O'Neill attacks him, and _he_ takes all the flak. They even cooked up a cover story for the bastard. He made his slow way back to his living room, his sore ribs denying him even the small satisfaction of stomping there.

The Air Force Colonel was there, waiting for him.

"How--?"

The man smiled at him again. It was a cold smile, not reaching his eyes. "I always find a way to do what I need to do. And I need to speak with you. I'm Colonel Frank Simmons. Why don't we sit down, Dr McKenzie?"

oOo

Jack was surprised to hear that the remainder of SG-1 was to return to the planet and complete the scheduled mission. Sure, it was only more sample-taking, but given recent events he had considered himself fortunate to be allowed off-base, let alone off-world.

He couldn't leave the subject alone. The samples weren't crucial. He was surely on the mentally-suspect list. And Carter was in the infirmary. That left only two solid team members. Definitely odd to be sending them out.

Somehow, he doubted that this mission was intended as a confidence-builder as the past two had been. And the General didn't give out vacation trips. What reason could anyone have for sending them off-world?

Carter. Carter would be here with no one to watch her six. And she was already compromised physically and in the enemy camp. _Fraiser is not the enemy_, he reminded himself firmly. But he could think of no other reason for sending his team away other than to leave Carter exposed.

He couldn't refuse the mission. Pretending to be sick would only land him in the enemy camp. He would have to go. But he couldn't leave his teammate defenseless. What could he do?

Diversionary tactics to keep the enemy too busy to do anything to her. A secondary line of defense wouldn't hurt, either. But he couldn't exactly order guards down there. Well, he could, but Hammond would probably send them away.

He gave it some thought, then got to work.

oOo

Fraiser was unable to refuse her daughter and the trip to the BackStreet Boys concert. She didn't even have to worry about going deaf-- Cassie had already taken care of that with her continuous squeals of excitement. The tickets had been a complete surprise; sent from a friend of hers who had been shipped out to Iraq and couldn't use them. She couldn't even say thankyou. The plane tickets to Seattle had been included as well. The infirmary was relatively quiet. She had no reason not to go.

oOo

Mark Carter sat in his car for a while, thinking. He didn't want to go. Hadn't spoken with his sister in ages, and that had been fine with him. But the anonymous friend who had called said Samantha was in the infirmary. And that it was worse than she let on. He'd called, of course, and she said it was nothing serious. But she didn't sound right, not even considering the strain between them. Something was definitely wrong. He was afraid she was terminally ill. His wife had insisted he go make his peace with her, and how could he argue? He sighed and started the engine. He could be there by morning.

oOo

Jack monitored the elevators again, and just 'happened' to be in the corridor when Morgan got out. He walked slowly, trying not to be obvious that he was dawdling, but wanting the two young airmen -- or would they be 'airwomen' since both were female?-- to be further away. No need to make it easy for Morgan to hit him with one of her jokes where they could hear.

"Leather is cruel," the sergeant said as she passed Morgan, not to the Colonel, but loud enough that she was intended to hear the protest about her jacket. "Some animal died to make that coat."

Far from backing off, Morgan turned on her. "I didn't know there were any witnesses." Her voice was low and dangerous. "Now I'll have to kill you, too!"

The sergeant, and her companion, swallowed and took a step back in unison. Jack recognized the second woman as Lieutenant Hinton. He had a passing acquaintance with her; her lab was near his office and they both frequented the same coffee pot.

"What are your duty assignments?"

The pair stared at her.

"I asked you a question!" she barked. "What are your duty assignments?"

The sergeant stammered out that she worked in data analysis. Lieutenant Hinton was clearly wishing she could disappear. Colonel Morgan glared at her, and she said she worked in the metallics lab.

"Dismissed."

They fled.

"Wasn't asking for their duty assignments a bit much?" Jack asked, chuckling nonetheless.

The Colonel turned and grinned back at him. "Not at all. I needed to make sure they weren't headed off world. She wouldn't shoot a _cow_. You want her watching your six?"

Jack cocked his head and nodded. "Good point."

Morgan wasn't finished yet. "Can't you just hear it? 'I just _couldn't_ shoot that poor Reetu. It looked too much like an innocent spider!'" her tone was mocking.

He laughed outright.

"And we haven't even touched the 'stupid' aspect." At his questioning look, she explained. "Would you make an obnoxious crack to someone so much higher in the food chain? Say the President waltzed in here in a tutu and ballerina slippers. Would you say anything?"

"Nope." Was quite a mental picture, though. "They didn't know who you were, though. You haven't changed into your uniform yet." He wasn't about to tell her that she didn't look like much in her casual, almost sloppy, civilian clothes. If he didn't know who she was, he wouldn't guess that she was a high-ranking officer either.

"That's more ammo for 'stupid.' I know what the Generals upstairs at Norad look like, even if I haven't met them." She grinned evilly. "Maybe I'll order them to meet me on the rifle range. At midnight."

Whoa, time for a diversion before one of those scared officers 'accidentally' shot Morgan. And there was a reason that he had wandered into this hall at this moment in time, after all. He wanted to talk to her. Today, before he left on his mission tomorrow. He didn't give himself time to reconsider. "Got a minute?"

"Sure. Time to clean up first?"

He nodded. "Stop by my office when you're ready."

oOo

"Don't, Jack. Just... don't." She wouldn't even look at him, looked at his picture of an F-16 instead.

He looked down at his hands. He should never have asked her, but he was desperate. He admitted it, at least to himself. He couldn't take much more. She wasn't a very good choice of confidant, but she had two huge advantages: she matched his rank, and more importantly she could be counted on to keep quiet.

She watched him and felt guilty. She wanted to help, to pay him back for what he had done for her. But this...

God, why did he have to tell her this? She felt stuck now, obligated to say something but really just wishing she wasn't here. She reluctantly took her eyes off the F-16, and her mind away from thoughts of flying it away from here. "I'm just not the one to talk about trust, Jack. I don't really trust anyone. And I can't sit here and tell you to."

"Why'd you join the force, then?" he countered. At least it made her the topic instead of him. "You have to trust your superiors."

"I joined so I could learn to be as strong as possible. And I have to obey. Not trust."

"What about your team? You trust them, right?"

"They're afraid to cross me."

"They're not afraid of you," he scoffed.

"I said they're afraid to cross me. They're not afraid of me as long as they obey."

"You trust me."

"Who told you that?"

"You're silting here alone with me."

She snorted. "I'm not paranoid. You have no reason to hurt me, Jack. There's nothing in it for you. People will do what's in their own best interest. If they don't have a vested interest, they do what's easiest. No one's looking out for me but me."

"Hammond?"

"Vested interest."

"Your team?"

"Very vested interest."

"Your mother." She had to give him that one.

"Dead."

"So you don't trust anyone at all? And you can live like that?"

"What can I say? Elliot Ness was right when he said trust no one. And even then he wasn't UnTouchable."

Jack gave up. She was more screwed up than he was. Still, it bothered him: what if she was right?

oOo

The man sat back in the dingy hotel room, his place on the worn comforter lit only by the weak sunlight pushing its way through the yellowed curtains. He stared toward the blank TV screen without seeing it as he made his plans. There was a chance now, and he wasn't going to screw it up. Besides, this would be an easier operation than the last few.

His last legitimate assignment had been complex and delicate as well as highly classified. Somehow, news agencies had gotten wind of it and it had quickly fallen apart. The government would need a scapegoat, someone to take the blame and its accompanying jail time, and he was the prime candidate. Well, he wasn't about to spend the rest of his life in prison. He'd decided to sell some intelligence and buy himself a cozy retirement on some tropical island. A little corny, maybe, but living like a king in a nice climate was better than losing himself in bustling, sweaty, big-city crowds.

He knew better than to sell his own information, of course. That would put him at risk from both sides; the buyer might not let their source stroll off into retirement, and the US might identify him based on what information he sold. He needed a source of valuable intel that was not related to his own recent assignments. And he'd been sure he had the perfect person.

Colonel Jack O'Neill. Nobody deserved it more, he thought spitefully. It would be very satisfying to get revenge on the man and retirement funds at the same time.

It was easy enough to extract him; the government hadn't formally named their scapegoat, and at any rate he had several sets of id at his disposal. So he simply gave the orders-- from a distance, just in case -- and they were obeyed. He'd expected O'Neill to cave pretty easily in a vain attempt to save his own ass. But the stubborn sob had held out for nearly a month. So he'd auctioned O'Neill himself. Only to find that the buyer was really working for the US. They even managed to freeze the Swiss account containing the funds; the bank manager had sworn to him that that wasn't possible. So he was back to square one.

Now he'd found Ops a new scapegoat for the failed mission. They wouldn't care that much who it was as long as they had someone to take the fall. Then they'd accept him back into the fold. Not in his old job, to be sure -- no one ever got two chances at that level. But he had other... skills... that were good enough to earn him a lower place. As long as his superiors believed he'd failed only that once.

They knew he was on the run, of course, as any sensible future-scapegoat would be. But they didn't know he was also the one behind the kidnapping of O'Neill. And while the 'sale' idea would get points for cleverness, offering a US officer with high-level secrets to non-allied foreign military powers would not. Nor would failing to check the prospective buyers carefully enough. To cap it all off, selling him back to the US made the whole division a laughingstock to those who knew about it. If they found out he was behind it, he was a dead man. After they made him suffer enough. His one chance was to make them believe that he had only been running to avoid being the scapegoat, and that he had returned as soon as he had an alternate. It all hinged on them never linking him to O'Neill.

He'd love to plant the Colonel once and for all. But he couldn't even do that. The whole incident was now a major embarrassment. Special Ops wanted to clean up their image with the other services and had gone so far as to make assurances that no one under their control would harm O'Neill. Killing him would not help his case for reinstatement in Ops.

All the same, he had to make sure O'Neill couldn't finger him. That the Colonel had not identified him immediately might mean that he truly didn't know who was behind it. Or it could mean that the sneaky bastard was just keeping the information quiet for future use. He needed some assurances of his own that O'Neill wouldn't nail him.

Ops had said they wouldn't harm him... physically. The man was already jumpy. Maybe he could push him over the edge. No one would listen to a certified nutcase.

The sun was down, the yellowed curtains a smoky brown in the evening gloom, and still he sat in the same place. He reviewed the plan in his mind once again, a slow smile crossing his face. The bait was perfect. O'Neill would not refuse, even knowing it was a trap. And it was urgent enough to make him respond without thinking.

He moved finally, pulling his laptop out of its hiding place in the dilapidated carryall. He'd find his bait easily enough with the Internet.


	16. Chapter 16: To Hell With Them

oOo Chapter 16: To Hell With Them

Hammond picked up the phone and grimly began giving orders. He prayed that this was some cruel joke, but he couldn't assume that. Not with these stakes. His key staff were in action within moments, and would have every available airman mobilized within minutes.

oOo

Jack skidded into the DHD and hung on, gasping heavily. Daniel collided next to him a moment later. Teal'c had outdistanced them and was dialing chevron three already. The General had ordered their immediate return, at absolute top speed. This could not be a good thing. The terse order had given no other information, left no time for questions. They dropped their gear and ran with only their weapons.

The second the wormhole settled, he sprinted through it, followed by his team. They were met on the ramp by an anxious medical team who grabbed their arms and kept them running. On out of the gate room, down the hall, to the waiting elevator, its door held open for them. They were crammed inside along with the three medical techs and three airmen. One airman took their weapons while another stripped them of their coats and long-sleeved uniform tops; the rest of their gear had been left behind on the planet in the interest of speed. All they got was goose-bumps on their now-bare forearms and a thirty second update on the ride to the infirmary level.

"Don't know about Major Carter, sir," the technician told him through teeth clenched around a pack of alcohol swabs. "All we were told is to get you three checked out as fast as humanly possible."

The medical technician took a vial of blood right there on the elevator. The other two medical techs were taking similar samples from Daniel and Teal'c. They each gagged as one of those giant Q-tip thingies was jammed into their throat, the resulting soggy swabs being deposited in plastic bags pre-labeled with their names.

"At least they didn't ask for urine specimens," Jack said, in a pale attempt to relieve the tension.

As soon as the door opened, the techs sprinted for the lab while the sixth man escorted SG-1 to the infirmary at a dead run. They skidded into the room and were immediately set upon by a swarm of white-coated personnel.

Jack may have had the occasional dream of having his clothes torn off by eager females, but it most certainly didn't involve said females being armed with medical equipment. The routine check for skin integrity, being carried out by several people at once, was, to say the least, disconcerting. By the time they were finished, he had goosebumps over every inch of his way-too-publicly-exposed flesh. And still no one could tell him anything useful.

Someone stabbed him in the thigh with a harpoon that would have made Moby Dick faint. "Antibiotics, sir. No time to wait for cultures."

He was pushed down onto a table and lead-jacketed medical techs continued the express exam on whatever part of him wasn't currently being x-rayed for goa'uld infestation. And of course, someone pointed a light in his eyes then his mouth while yet another pair checked his ears. Then it was on to a decontamination chamber where he was hastily and roughly scrubbed down with the strongest antiseptic the base possessed. Killing any external bugs he may have picked up, the way the harpoon of drugs was killing the stuff inside.

They wouldn't even give him the time to dress alone. The latest crew, still with no answer other than 'we have to get you out as fast as humanly possible,' descended upon him. One pulled a black t-shirt over his head while another held a pair of black pants for him to step into. At least they let him button them himself, directing him to lie down while he did it so they could put his socks on at the same time. His personal shoes were shoved on top and he was helped to his feet and rushed out the door.

He met the other male members of his team in the hall as they were all raced toward the elevator. Daniel tripped and his escort kept moving, half-dragging him as he tried to get his feet back under himself. Teal'c grabbed his other arm and they practically carried the man to the elevator. It would have been comical if all this rushing wasn't so ominous.

"Sergeant, report," Jack ordered in the elevator.

"No idea, sir. We were ordered to have you out of the base as soon as humanly possible. They said every second counts."

"Where are we going?"

"Topside. Top speed. That's all I know, sir."

They got off the first elevator to find the second held open, waiting for them. Their escorts shoved them promptly into it without even signing out with SGC security. The security sergeant didn't look surprised.

Jack spent the interminable seconds in the elevator worrying. They still hadn't seen Carter. He knew her well enough to know that if something bad was happening, she'd be with her team, bum leg or not. Unless the bad thing had happened to her. His mind raced. He should have refused the mission, should have set up more and better defenses for his second before going without her. He should have --

The elevator door opened and they were swept into a room on the first floor, borrowed from their upstairs neighbors of Norad, and filled with all sorts of communications equipment. And, thankfully, Carter. She was dressed as they were, in unadorned black, and leaning against a table to ease the pressure on her damaged leg. She had a headset on and was listening to something as she worked feverishly on a computer. Another, a fancy laptop with enough antennae and doodads sticking out it to make it look like a giant alien insect, was in the center of another table. Hammond was waiting for them, too.

He closed the door, and both he and Carter turned toward the new arrivals.

Jack's relief at seeing Carter in one piece was short-lived. Her eyes were damp but her lips were compressed in fury; Jack knew that rare 'avenging-angel' look. Whatever had happened wasn't an impersonal military them-or-us thing. It was something cruel and unjustifiable; she wanted to cry for the loss but far more than that she wanted to take violent action against the person responsible. This was his second at her most dangerous; give her a target now and it would be neutralized, with extreme prejudice.

"Colonel..."

The look on Hammond's face didn't do anything to reassure him. "What happened, General?" Jack demanded.

Another voice interrupted. It was coming from the computer on the table. "Where is he?! Colonel Jack O'Neill! Cheyenne Mountain Air Base! Where the hell is he?!" The woman's voice was nearly hysterical.

Jack crossed over to the machine with one long stride. "This is O'Neill. Can you hear me?"

He felt the General's hand on his shoulder just before his own heart stopped. He hardly heard the woman's next words, his head spinning as he took in the horrific images on the screen. His knees gave way and he sank to kneeling on the floor, barely holding himself up on the edge of the table.

"Thank god! Do what they say! Please! Don't let Charlie die! Please! Do what they say! You have to save my boys!" She was babbling hysterically until her attention was suddenly drawn to something off camera. "No! Oh, god!" She gasped, gaining control of herself with difficulty.

The screen image was actually three different camera images. One of the woman, in her thirties, blonde, and securely restrained. The second was a very small child, in a playpen, with newspapers piled under and around him, spilling out the sides of the enclosure. A candle burned in a puddle of melted wax just outside his reach, in position to ignite the papers when it burned down sufficiently; the incentive to deliver Jack swiftly. A crude and cruel timer. And the third was a boy of about ten, with a mop of fair hair, his terrified eyes riveted to the handgun pointed at his chest.

"What did you have for breakfast?"

"Oatmeal," Jack answered immediately. An unseen puff of air extinguished the candle.

Behind Jack, Hammond's expression hardened. The Colonel had had breakfast with him that morning in the dining hall. That the people behind this obscenity knew what he had eaten proved beyond any possible doubt that someone in his own command was directly involved.

The woman heaved a sigh of relief. "My name is Sara. These are my sons, Charlie and Michael." Jack knew without a doubt that Charlie was the older boy. Sara. Charlie. A weapon at point blank range in front of a ten year old. This wasn't a coincidence; it was hell on earth, custom built for Jack O'Neill. With a baby callously thrown in as a timer.

Sara was focused on something off-screen now. "Colonel Jack O'Neill, Cheyenne Mountain Air Base, is ordered to come here." She was reading something, they realized. "You will be given further instructions when you arrive. If you disobey orders, you will -- No! No!"

Something again forced her to control herself. They could only imagine what she might be seeing off-screen that overcame the horrors already displayed. "If you disobey orders, you will," she stopped, unable to say it.

Voice shaking, she tried again. "If you disobey, you will be responsible for shooting Charlie. Again."

_Again_. The word set Jack's heart pounding and the woman babbling. "I told them they've got the wrong Charlie, but they won't listen! Don't let them hurt my Charlie! Please!" She took a breath, pleading in earnest. "Mr. O'Neill. Colonel. Jack. I don't know what you did before, and I don't care. Just please, please don't let them hurt my son!"

Charlie's little window obligingly grew larger, highlighting the weapon mere inches in front of him. He was quaking like a leaf, his blue t-shirt plastered to him with sweat. Jack could hardly breathe as he stared at the image. This can't happen; not to another Charlie...

A gasp returned their attention to the woman, who was once more focused off camera. "Colonel Jack O'Neill, Cheyenne Mountain Air Base, must come or else..." she read. "And here is some incentive to hurry." She looked fearfully around to see what it might be.

A handgun slid into view next to the playpen and the woman screamed. The baby startled at the sound. He looked curiously at her, then at the new object just out of his reach. "No! No, Michael! Baby, don't touch that!" He watched his mother for a moment as his young mind debated between listening to Mommy and investigating the new toy. With an impish little grin, baby Michael reached through the bars of the playpen toward the new toy. He touched it once and pulled his hand back, giggling at his cleverness. He reached out again, eyes on his mother to see if she would make the shrieking sound again.

"Where! Where do I go?" Jack yelled at the box on the table.

The baby looked toward the screen, a toothless smile lighting his cherubic face; this new toy made funny new sounds from Mommy _and_ from over there! He stretched for it, chubby fingers trying to pull the gun nearer.

"Don't! Please, don't! I'll come, I promise! Take the gun away!" The gun spun sideways as the baby's uncoordinated grip slipped, and the child giggled at the new trick. Finally, an address appeared on screen, along with a warning that if anyone entered without following instructions, the other weapon would fire at Charlie.

They bolted for the van waiting at the curb. Carter swept the laptop up and ran with them, bobbling as her bad leg hit the ground. Teal'c grabbed her, as he had supported Daniel to the elevator, and raced to the van. They were barely inside before the van took off.

On the computer screen, the baby made the gun spin again, laughing to see it turn. His picture was now the largest, in the center of the screen.

They screeched to a halt, finding the place already surrounded by police and Air Force personnel. And four ambulances, one each for the woman, the children, and the Colonel. Jack looked somberly at this graphic reminder that tragedy was expected here. That everyone assumed he would fail at whatever was demanded of him.

He had spent the entire drive vainly begging the unseen assailants to take the gun away from the baby. Heartless bastards had ignored him, even though he said he was on the way, told them at each turn how close they were. They didn't need to listen to his pleas; they knew he'd still come even if the baby killed himself, because there were still the other two to save. Another Charlie and another Sara, people he didn't even know, condemned for the coincidence of their names.

The woman on the screen continued to alternate between telling the baby to leave the 'bad thing' alone and begging Jack to hurry and save them.

The baby had spent his time trying to get that interesting new toy. The watchers had had a joint heart attack at one point when Michael's grasping fingers slid right across the trigger. They actually saw the trigger start to move before he lost his hold; there would be no reprieve from a safety lock.

Carter frantically tried to come up with some way to protect the Colonel, even knowing he would not use it. He wouldn't protect himself if he thought it increased the risk to the baby. She could only imagine what must be going through his mind with the rest of the ordeal, seeing that boy, so much like his Charlie, in such peril of a gunshot wound just like his son's. Not to mention his blonde mother, Sara, crying out to Jack to save her son. One more chance to save Charlie. She didn't hold out much hope that the Colonel would be given a fair chance to do it.

Teal'c had been quiet on the trip, beyond asking what was being done to locate the perpetrator of this evil. Upon hearing that Hammond had already mobilized everything he had in an effort to trace the culprit, he turned his attention to O'Neill. He put his hand on his friend's shoulder, willing him to feel the support and to be strong enough to survive the probability that one or all of the innocents would not live. He would never say such a thing, but he was not certain that O'Neill, in his already fragile mental state, could withstand such a vicious attack as this.

Daniel, too, had been quiet. He sat in the back of the van, hugging himself. If the baby was merely the incentive to respond quickly, he dared not imagine what they would do with the older boy when Jack arrived. He was afraid that they would set Jack an impossible task, and kill this Charlie when he failed. Just thinking about it was breaking Daniel's heart; what must it be doing to Jack?

Jack leapt into action before they fully stopped. He strode forward, yelling at the top of his lungs that he was there. His team followed, till he waved them to stop by the police cars. He walked forward onto the front lawn alone, arms raised, calling out that he was there.

No response.

He stood, turning slowly, looking and listening for his next instructions.

Nothing.

Behind him, Carter gasped. He turned frantically. She showed him the screen of the satellite-modem-enabled laptop computer. Baby Michael had succeeded in pulling the gun next to the playpen. As they watched, his chubby little fingers grabbed it and the web page went blank.

Carter fiddled with the computer; a new page came up. The problem wasn't the computer. Or the satellite. The threatening page was gone. She stepped to one side to talk into her cell phone, no doubt checking with the base to see if they still had a link. Daniel took her place watching the computer screen.

Jack turned about one more time, looking for his instructions, calling out for direction.

Nothing.

He started toward the door, hoping that if that were the wrong action, he would be told. _If you enter without instructions, the gun will fire at Charlie_. But if he didn't enter soon, Michael was sure to accidentally fire the other weapon. How was he supposed to choose between two innocent children?

He stepped up on the porch, telling himself that it was the cool shade of the awning that made him shiver. One of those kids, and maybe both, could be shot in the next few moments depending on his actions. He turned one last time and squinted into the sunlight at the people gathered behind the cars. No one came to the rescue with new orders.

He swallowed and with trepidation took the final two steps to the door. His foot crunched on something on the black welcome mat. He bent to look. It was a radio headset, its black plastic blending with the welcome mat. One side was now crushed, a few tenacious shards of sharp plastic clinging to bare wires. He picked it up gently, hoping it still worked, that he hadn't killed those kids with one clumsy footstep. He put it on, positioning the remaining earpiece on his right ear. The broken side scratched his left cheek. "I'm here."

"Thank god!" The captive Sara's voice sounded in his right ear. "He's here! He's here! Take the--" she stopped abruptly.

Her voice came back after a long moment, very subdued, almost monotone except for the quiver.

Jack recognized the sound of a person going into shock and wondered what her captors had done now. And how much more the woman could take.

"Do exactly and only what you are told or you will be responsible for shooting Charlie. Exactly and only. Is that understood?"

"Understood." He held perfectly still, waiting for his orders, dreading the commands that could necessitate such extreme enforcement.

"Don't expect your backup to help you."

He hesitated. She hadn't asked him a direct question or given an instruction. Was she waiting for a response? Or would speaking without specific orders violate the 'exactly and only' command? The silence stretched and he opened his mouth to confirm that he understood -- no interference from anyone else.

"Go to the middle of the lawn," she told him.

He did as he was told, breathing a sigh of relief that she had spoken before he did.

"Look at --" a gasp. "Look at your friends for the last time."

He turned silently toward the crowd in the street, surprised that he would simply be executed. They could have taken him by surprise on the street with much less trouble. Maybe they had a dramatic end in store, one that they felt required an audience?

"Unlike other people, you have a chance to say goodbye. Call them forward, look them in the eye, and say it."

So this was the reason. It wasn't enough to just kill him; they wanted his team to stand there and watch. Maybe they thought he'd break down and humiliate himself before he died. Or try to save himself at the expense of the child, showing himself as a coward in front of all these witnesses. He didn't buy their 'chance to say goodbye' spiel.

"Teal'c. Carter. Daniel." They all stepped a few feet forward, standing in an uneasy row a few yards from their friend. He shrugged, one side of his mouth coming up in a sickly attempt at a smile. "Guess this is it."

All three started toward him and he stopped them with a look, remembering just in time not to make a move without orders. If it was him or Charlie, the choice was clear. The exaggerated facial expression caused the broken headphone to dig into his face, and a droplet of blood trickled like a ruby tear down his cheek.

"Kneel down."

He knelt, his breath coming faster as he waited for the bullet to strike. That wasn't important, he reminded himself firmly, you won't even feel it. Charlie and Sara are what's important.

"Whenever you're ready, Colonel."

He took a deep breath, preparing himself. Looked at his three closest friends for the last time. To their credit, they all looked back. Not one closed his or her eyes to avoid the coming image. Carter was teary and tense, her body language begging for the order to intervene. Teal'c somberly met his gaze. The big man understood Jack's decision, and would honor it. But he would also seek vengeance against whomever victimized children and murdered his friend. Daniel had a hopeless and disbelieving look about him, like he still couldn't register what was happening before him. That was Daniel, all the things he'd seen in the past few years hadn't hardened him in the least.

He loved them all; they were his brothers-in-arms, his team, his family.

"Do it."

The shots rang out and all three of his teammates crashed to the ground before his eyes.

He lurched forward, desperate to get to his fallen team. The instant he moved, Sara's voice screamed in his ear. "No! Don't move! They didn't order-- No! Oh, please, no! Not Charlie! Don't! Charlieee!" A fourth shot sounded in his earpiece, then silence.


	17. Chapter 17: Aftermath

oOo Chapter 17: Aftermath

He stalked back and forth along the hall, alternately checking one room then the other. He owed them this final vigil; he would stay here until the last one was pronounced dead. After that... he didn't know.

He couldn't see much over the sea of white coats. Just that the white tide ebbed and flowed around both beds in Daniel and Teal'c's room and swirled about Carter in the other. They weren't telling him anything; no one did anything but stare at him and edge past. All he knew for sure was that for the moment all three of his teammates still lived; the action in the rooms told him the medical staff believed there might still be something there to be saved. He wasn't so sure. He had seen them fall. He didn't expect to see them rise.

He paced once more, needing to move, to do something to keep his mind from going back to that awful moment. The sickening realization that they had taken out his entire team. He had checked them all, there on that urban battlefield, and he was sure he'd lost them all forever.

Real injuries weren't like the movies; a guy didn't slump gracefully and silently to the ground when he was shot unless he died instantly. When you were shot, you screamed, you writhed, you gasped for breath. Blood spurted, innards slid outwards. It was loud and ugly and messy. At least you hoped it was. Screaming and writhing and gasping and even blood spurting all shouted that life continued, all demanded instant action to maintain it. Silence and stillness whispered of death, quietly beckoned for sorrow to follow it.

They had been quiet and motionless. All three of them. There hadn't been so much as a moan or twitch between them. The sniper would chalk them down as clean kills. _Snipers_, he corrected; good ones, the three shots so close that they sounded like one. Good ones, who wouldn't leave a target alive. He stood there on shaking legs, rebuffed by the medical teams who still believed there was hope. Jack felt no hope of his own; he had seen enough battlefield injuries to know a fatality when he saw one. Or three. He had felt so lost, so empty. It was almost a blessing when the emptiness was filled with impotent rage. Fury at those who had done this to them. To him.

He had known it was a trap. Had walked willingly into it to save someone else's boy named Charlie, the way he had been unable to save his own. He had stupidly taken it all at face value, had not even thought of protecting his team. If he had taken even a moment to think, it all could have been different.

But he hadn't thought. He had trusted -- the word rankled bitterly in his mind -- he had trusted that they would hurt only him. And maybe the child, if he failed yet another Charlie. The boy hadn't been in that house. No one was, no one even lived there. It was completely empty. They didn't know, might never know for sure, what had happened to Charlie and his family. The only certainty was that it had all been a ruse to make him call his team into the open. Even then, with his whole team exposed, he hadn't seen it coming. He had given the order to terminate his own team.

His thoughts were interrupted by motion from one of the rooms. Carter's. He steeled himself for the confirmation that she was gone, that he would never again see her smile or be dazed by her brilliant techno-babble. They were rolling the bed out of the room. He watched her slowly appear, feet first. His gaze was frozen to that one spot, letting her inert body slide slowly past his vision, unable to raise his eyelids to hurry that final moment of truth, that inevitable last look at her face.

He made himself look at her pale, still face; the breathing tube was still taped on, it's inky black color a shocking contrast to her deathly pallor.

Not half the shock as the animated face smiling at him from above Carter's fair hair.

Fraiser was smiling triumphantly at him over Carter's body.

It was too much; he felt the adrenaline surge as he lunged for her. Here was an enemy he could reach, someone he could punish. How could she smile like that? She couldn't smile, no one was allowed to smile while his team died! He would stop her, stop anyone.

Fraiser instinctively moved for shelter when he attacked, ducking behind Carter's bed. It was the best thing she could have done. Even in his rage, Jack would not hurl his teammate's body aside to get at her. "Colonel!"

Fraiser peeked cautiously over the bed. Not seeing him at first, she straightened slowly to find him matching her motion from the other side. She was mesmerized by the cold fury staring back at her, not even realizing he was moving his hands until she was pinned against the wall by the gurney.

"Sir! Colonel, please."

He kept pressing, crushing her between the bed and the wall. His eyes bored into hers from just inches away. "You can't smile while they die," he growled, his voice rough with emotion.

Her eyes bugged out, only partially from the increasing pressure on her midsection. What had she been thinking to come out smiling like that? With effort, she pulled in another breath. Possibly her last, she realized, if she didn't persuade him. "Sir, Sam is ok. She's just drugged. She's ok."

The gurney stopped it's forward motion but did not move away to free her. She stared into his pain-darkened eyes, heart pounding as she realized that he wasn't sure whether to believe her. Why didn't he believe her? Maybe she wasn't soldier enough for him, but she was a good doctor. Surely he didn't doubt that after all these years?

A nurse stepped up, not even noticing how her boss' lab coat was cinched in by the gurney. Her eyes slid toward the tall officer instead. He was even more handsome up close than from down the hall. And so intense! "We have the oxygen flow ready in the other room, ma'am."

The colonel turned his head slowly, narrowing his eyes as he considered her.

She smiled up at him and Fraiser felt a sudden surge of fear for the lieutenant. "Glad to hear your team's going to be ok, sir," the young woman said.

He stared at her and she fidgeted. Maybe she was being too upbeat, considering that the man had just been through a harrowing experience.

Fraiser managed one more breath. Was it just a shade easier this time? Was he easing up the pressure? "I was just telling the colonel how his team was hit with tranquilizers rather than bullets."

The suspicious brown eyes turned back to her.

"Strong stuff, colonel. Intended to put them down instantly." The pressure was definitely lessening. She gratefully took a lungful of air. "There's been a lot of advances in this area as a means of taking out terrorists before they can finish their threats."

He continued to watch her, still not speaking.

"I'd like to get her into the room with Daniel and Teal'c, sir. This portable oxygen won't last forever."

Jack took one long pace back, keeping his eye on both of the women. They rolled the bed into the other room and he followed, careful that no one was behind him at any point. He watched quietly as they fiddled around, hooking up Carter's black tube to a hose similar to the ones on the men.

Fraiser sent the nurse away and turned to talk to the colonel. "They will all be ok, colonel. They need a few hours to wake up, and overnight here would be a good idea." She felt like she was getting through to him. "They will be alright. Trust me." His eyes narrowed abruptly at the words and she took an involuntary step away.

A soft snort of breath told her how laughable he thought that action was. There was no escape if he wanted to hurt her.

She shook herself. What was she thinking? This was Colonel O'Neill. He was worried about his team. Not to mention the family that had been used as bait to lure his team into the open. That was all. Wasn't it?

"I'll come back to check on them in a little while." She left the room, refusing to acknowledge how relieved she felt to be out of his presence. It was all just a misunderstanding; her smiling, his reaction, all of it.

Alone in the room, Jack checked his teammates. They were too still, deathlike except for the machine that artificially made their chests rise and fall. He would wait and see if they really woke up. Jack took a position to one side of the room, where he could observe the entire room and part of the hall but could not himself be seen unless someone entered. He slipped his right hand into his pocket, fingering the sidearm concealed within the loose trousers.

oOo

"Dr McKenzie may have been a soft touch."

Jack snorted at the very idea.

"But I can assure you that I am not. I'm career military, same as you. You don't need coddling, and you aren't going to get any from me. You will discuss your experience. In detail. Including your feelings about the events that transpired. And the incidents with Drs Standish and McKenzie."

At least Fraiser hadn't reported him for the incident with the gurney.

"Or else you will not be returned to a command position."

"You'd keep me out of the field?"

"I will keep you out of any and all positions that give you influence over any other military personnel until I am convinced that you have dealt with this situation adequately."

"You can't do that!"

"I can and I will. Your choice, Colonel. And before you pull out your 'give me my way or I'll resign' speech, let me inform you that if you attempt any such thing I will have you confined for medical observations."

"What!"

"McKenzie has been far too willing to allow you to ignore your personal issues. You will not frustrate or intimidate me into signing off on your mental state."

Jack just stared at her.

"Take some time to think about it, Colonel. I'll expect you promptly at nine tomorrow. Don't make me send the SFs."

oOo

Dr Levi smiled coolly. "Good morning, Colonel."

Jack stared coldly for a moment then walked silently past to take a seat.

Levi chuckled. "Go ahead and sulk if it makes you feel better."

_Breaking your jaw would make me feel better_, Jack thought to himself.

Levi sat down. "I'm glad you came in, Jack. The first step is to admit you have a problem."

"My only problem is that you're the only shrink with security clearance. And it's _Colonel_."

"You mean I'm the only one left who can objectively work with you," she corrected. "Would you like to discuss that problem first, Colonel?"

Things went downhill from there.

After forty-five minutes and one-half second, he rose to leave.

"You haven't been dismissed, Colonel."

He stared at her. "_You_ don't dismiss a Colonel, _Major_. And your hour is up."

"I took the liberty of clearing my schedule and yours for the day."

"You can't do that."

"I am now the acting chief psychiatric officer on base," she reminded him. "You can stay here or be confined for observation."

"I'm going to see Hammond."

"If whining to him will make you feel better, go right ahead. But I outrank the General on medical matters, Colonel. As you well know."

"You outrank him when there is justification, Doctor."

"Such as a patient who is responsible for sending the rest of the psychiatric department to the infirmary in a matter of days?"

He glared at her.

"I'll give you fifteen minutes, Colonel. If you decide to complain, I will see that it is handled immediately so we can get back to work before the day is out. Otherwise, I will see you back here. Please don't try to leave the base; you will only embarrass yourself." She left the room without another word.

oOo

He paced as he thought, needing the movement both to release some tension and to demonstrate his relative freedom. _Torture isn't about the pain, really. It's about control._ His trainer's words echoed in his mind, as they often did in interrogation situations. Sure, Levi wouldn't physically hurt him, but he believed her when she said she'd incarcerate him. He remembered that barren little cell Daniel had been held in when Machello's device made him seem crazy; not much more than a soft-sided box, really. The image brought back his own horror at the situation; the emptiness of that cell had fairly screamed of hopelessness and despair. Jack knew he would quickly go crazy if he were abandoned and alone in one of those soft white tissue-box prisons.

But the alternative was to give Levi absolute control, to answer all of her questions fully. He could try to lie, or to keep some details for himself, but if she caught him at it, it would make things ten times worse. She would delve even deeper, probably ask him about his mother and his toilet training and all the other stupid things psychiatrists thought ruined your life. And then, worst of all, she would analyze it all, tell him whether he was right or wrong to think and feel the way he did. What gave them the right to do that, anyway? Well, ok, the Air Force gave them the right. But how could they really say that 'no you shouldn't think this' or 'yes you should feel that way'? They sat here in a safe, antiseptic little office, never going into the field, never knowing what it's like to put your life on the line or to be stuck in a bad situation, and they could tell you how you should feel about it? You feel what you feel, you can't just change it like changing your gear for a new tactical attack.

He stalked silently back into the room, hating her and her little half-concealed smirk. She was in control and they both knew it. _Torture isn't about the pain, really. It's about control. If there is anything you can control, any little thing, do it._ Fine, there was one thing he could control: she wanted details, she was going to get them. He'd ram the dirty little details down her throat. Maybe he could even distract her with the ugliness of reality, shake her sterile little office world enough to scare her into backing off.

He sat down across from her, looked her straight in the eye.

She noticed the difference in his attitude, and hoped it was a good sign. One way to find out. "What's the first thing you remember?"

"Waking up, cuffed to a chair, in a Special Ops interrogation room."

"How did you know where you were?"

"They wanted me to know where I was. It was obvious; the layout, the tools. Everything but a printed sign. They let me sit and think about it for a while."

"How did you feel about that?"

He snorted. "I appreciated the time alone, actually. Wasn't looking forward to having any company in there." He cocked his head at her. Time to start detail-ramming. "Company came eventually. An old friend. We used to work together in Special Ops. Another message."

"Message?"

He couldn't resist the barb. "Don't they teach you guys about this in psycho-school? _You know who's got you._ Translation: you know who we are, so we can't let you leave here alive. _Time alone, looking at the tools of the trade._ Translation: remember what we do here? You know what we are capable of, and you don't want us to do it to you. _Sending an old friend to do the dirty work_. Lots of good stuff there: we know you personally and we have an idea of how to get to you. And don't think that any old friends are going to help, they're already here to hurt you. Betrayal, despair. You know, the usual."

"The usual?"

"Breaks the prisoner faster, Doc." He enjoyed the discomfited look on her face. "Come on, you must know that much."

"And how were you feeling?"

"Oh, I felt it all right. But I understood, and that helped. They were just being practical."

"And the old friend? How did you feel about him?"

"Her, Doc. Mechanics aren't all men, you know."

"Mechanics?"

"It's what they call field interrogators, especially when you're on or behind enemy lines. You use common tools, stuff you could get from a hardware store or auto supply." He saw her eyes widen and chuckled without any warmth. "Effective stuff, Doc. You don't do intense field interrogation when there's time to ask nicely. Detainees usually know what jumper cables and pliers and stuff can do, so you're halfway done on fear factor alone. And if you're the one who's caught, you pass yourself off as a mechanic."

"And how did you feel about the lady mechanic?"

"I said she was a woman, not a lady."

The doctor just stared at him, waiting for her answer. He sighed. "I was glad to see her, at first. They let us talk for a while, reminisce about old times, catch up with each other. Need a translation for that, too? They wanted me to remember old times, how we used to interrogate detainees. Get scared about being on the wrong side of the ropes. That's for the 'fear' and 'despair' parts. The 'betrayal' part was her calmly getting ready to hurt me, doing what she was told even though it was me in the chair. And knowing that my former chain of command had ordered it all."

"You know who ordered it? Why haven't you told Hammond?"

"I knew it was someone from Special Ops. They didn't exactly give me a name, Doc. Geez." He rolled his eyes.

She took a deep breath, reminded herself not to respond to his prodding. "Go on."

"Well, when she figured we talked enough, she moved on. Asked me how I wanted to start." He laughed bitterly at the doctor's expression. "It's another scare tactic, Doc. Just asking the question gets me to think about the kind of things she can do. She was just being practical. I can be, too. I stalled her for a few minutes talking about it. Maybe I shouldn't have." He shrugged. "Guess I wasn't looking scared enough. She got rough right away."

He watched Levi's face as he described in detail exactly what she had done to him. From the abrupt and violent start through the last thing he remembered about round 1. It was excruciating and bloody, meant to break down his resistance at the least, and coerce him quickly into talking at best. He made a point of describing the physical sensations as well as his mental attitude. He almost smiled. He had control after all; she was listening raptly, probably not even aware that she was squirming in her seat. By the time he finished, she was tense, fingers clenching her clipboard. _You wanted this, Doc, not me._

Round 2 was different. Back to scare tactics. First, she offered him an out; a quick death in exchange for quick information. To make it even more appealing, she went on to detail the alternative.

She had read about his experience in Iraq, was using that against him. At first, it had thrown him, the horror of it happening again. He had tried to block out the words, but it was hard. She made it hard, executing some of the actions she described and splattering his own blood from her hands into his face as she talked about how she could do the other things better than the Iraqis had.

He pantomimed a motion himself, and Levi jumped. He laughed at her the way his interrogator had laughed at him. "What's wrong, Doc?" he mocked. "You know its not really going to happen to you."

Levi annoyance at his action faded as she observed the man somberly. She did know that it wasn't going to happen to her. Her patient had been equally certain that it _was_ going to happen to him. For the second time in his life. At the hands of a countryman, a former friend, someone he should have been able to trust. Could even a seasoned veteran like O'Neill survive such a thing?

That had been the turning point, he told her. Her laughter had angered him, snapped the hold her mesmerizing words had had on him.

He was able to think again, but it was still hard. He had to deal with the pain in his body, pay attention to her current words and react appropriately to them, and still try to think of a plan. Finally, finally, he'd done it. He tricked her once, but she caught him. That had scared him; she had him trapped, and now she was pissed. Not good. Very not good. In the end, she gave him the way out; he turned her own words against her and won his freedom.

She watched him, stunned at how calmly he discussed this horror. So matter-of-fact, explaining the practicality of the interrogator's actions and his own. Did understanding the reasons really make it that easy to accept such pain? She shook herself slightly; time enough later to decide if this was a reasonable mental defense-mechanism or a symptom of a disturbance that needed to be addressed. "Go on," she managed to croak.

His freedom didn't last long. Others caught him before he could escape the facility, and punished him for the attempt. From that point on, nearly three weeks, he had been continuously bound and blindfolded. Transferred to new interrogators who used different techniques. They tried to drive him mad with incessant small torments, coming suddenly and without warning from the darkness beyond his blindfold. Questions, loud and fast and angry, with equally fast and angry penalties for not answering. Then periods of nothingness, waiting for it all to start again. Never time to sleep, rarely any food. He paused, taking another drink of water. Sure was dry in here.

Levi listened, trying to maintain a neutral face. He was certainly forthcoming today. He didn't even try to deny being frightened-- "any idiot would be scared, Doc"-- or in pain --"yeah, it hurt, they know what they're doing." He seemed to be handling it fairly well, actually; should she believe his claim that it had happened often enough before that he knew the drill, the mental tricks, how to get through it all?

oOo

Jack talked and Levi listened for the next day and a half. Late the next morning, she watched her primary patient leave, almost glad that Hammond had requested a meeting with him this afternoon. She needed a break herself.

He had certainly done an about face. When she had threatened to lock him up until he talked, he had responded with brutal honesty, telling her about his experience in excruciating detail. She knew he was trying to make her regret her demand by filling in all the horrifying minutiae, and to some degree it was working. She'd had a nightmare herself last night, narrated in O'Neill's own sometimes angry, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes frighteningly unemotional voice.

Today, he had gone on to tell her about being sold. To the highest bidder, with the promise of one more sale when he outlived his usefulness-- the privilege of murdering him would be auctioned off to recoup some of his original cash cost. He wouldn't stay on the topic for long, a sure indication of how much it disturbed him. Given his general cooperation, she let him move on to other topics for the time being. And he had told her about his first 'owner' and the man's promises of what was to come. Of the casual torments on the journey to his next owners. More details that would probably come back in Technicolor in her sleep tonight.

He'd skipped over being reunited with SG-1 and the trip home, as he'd already discussed that with Dr McKenzie, and gone on to talk about his return to Colorado, his house, and the base. Bits and pieces that she'd duly listened to and noted for review later. Chances were there was a theme in the items he'd talked about, and she would find it and analyze it with him. She sighed and opened her notebook. No time like the present.


	18. Chapter 18: Hairy Situation

oOo Chapter 18: Hairy Situations

The General paused again. "Major, what is that sound?"

She flushed. "It's my hair, sir."

"Your _hair_?"

"I think I made it mad." She removed her cap and her hair sprang angrily away from her head, writhing like Medusa's snakes.

The General leaned away from her. "What on Earth...?" He stared at the heaving halo atop her head.

"Not Earth, sir. Wind World."

"Visiting that planet did this to your hair?"

"The natives use a chemical to make the crops wave; it keeps the birds away."

"How did the chemical get in your hair?"

"I...put it there, sir."

His gaze moved briefly from the fascinating follicular display to her face.

"I thought if it made the wind-in-your-hair effect, we could sell it to help with the budget, sir."

"Leave the budget to me, Major."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

He nodded.

"With all due respect, General, I don't think it's appropriate to make Colonel O'Neill work on the budget right now." There. She said it. The incredulous look on his face spoke volumes. Volumes of upcoming punishment detail, that is. She took a deep breath, ready to be chewed out for her audacity in judging the General's actions.

"Colonel O'Neill is working on the budget? Why didn't you come to me?"

"He ordered us not to. He said you were the only one who could have sent it, and he wasn't going to question that decision." _Oh, there you go, Carter_, she thought to herself. _Point out that the Colonel won't question his orders but you will._ That wasn't the point, though. "He's been killing himself over this. Sir."

"The budget is my concern, Major. Not the Colonel's. Or yours. You are officially out of the hair-care business." He gestured toward her head. "Hit the showers, Major."

"Thank you, sir." She left gratefully.

She ran into Daniel on the way to the shower. He stared at her hair and she laughed. "The gel doesn't go well with hats."

"I guess not." He was still watching the show.

"I'm going to wash this out," she turned and opened the door to the locker room. Paused, half in, "I talked to Hammond. He didn't know about the Colonel and ..." she swished the fingers of one hand around in her hair, the strands curling about her hand.

"He didn't know?" How could Hammond not know about Jack working on the budget?

"He does now. The General will take care of it." She disappeared into the locker room.

Daniel turned and came face to face with Jack. "Jack! Hi."

"What didn't the General know about?"

"Uh," Daniel hesitated. Jack had told them specifically not to talk to Hammond about the budget. He didn't want to get Sam in trouble. "He, uh, didn't, well, he--"

Jack spun on his heel and stalked off. He'd seen the hand gesture. Spinning her index finger by her temple. His own team thought he was crazy. Crazy enough to go to Hammond about it.

Daniel watched him go, and belatedly said, "the gel! He didn't know about the gel!" he called out after Jack. _God,_ Daniel, he berated himself. _That was such an obvious save and you missed it completely._

oOo

Hammond returned to his desk, chuckling to himself at the mental picture of Major Carter's hair. Maybe he'd get a copy of the security video just for laughs. First, though, he'd tell Colonel O'Neill to forget about the budget. He checked his calendar automatically, and sighed. He'd talk to the Colonel after his next appointment. He'd forgotten about it, or maybe tried to block it out. He buzzed his secretary and asked her to have O'Neill stop by after lunch. He had another Colonel to talk to first.

Frank Simmons arrived promptly at ten. He wasn't alone.


	19. Chapter 19: Trial N Error

oOo Chapter 19: Trial 'N Error

The secretary held up a hand to stop Jack from entering Hammond's office. "One moment, sir. The General is not alone."

"Yeah? Who's in there?"

"Another General. He's been in there for a couple of hours already." She didn't mention Colonel Simmons; he had left over an hour ago.

A couple of hours, eh? Maybe Jack's meeting would be postponed, he thought hopefully. He liked the General just fine, but meetings were meetings, and who wanted those?

oOo

Jack entered the General's office formally, knowing there was another General still there with him. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"So this is him, eh?" the other General said, circling Jack slowly, appraising him. Jack said nothing, waiting for Hammond to take the lead. "Not what I pictured." Jack bristled a bit, but held his tongue; something important must be up if Hammond was allowing this.

"He doesn't look the type, but then who can tell? He's aggressive enough, based on his personnel file."

Jack was feeling pretty aggressive, alright. He didn't like feeling like a piece of meat out for this so-far-unnamed General's approval. Hammond looked him in the eye, but didn't say anything. Jack took the hint and waited silently to find out what this was about.

"A man wouldn't be much of a soldier if he wasn't aggressive," Hammond pointed out mildly.

"True," the other General chuckled. "Still, too much of a good thing can be a problem. Sure he can handle himself in there?" Hammond nodded.

"Still taking a risk, George. Are you sure?"

"He'll obey orders."

_That_ didn't sound good, Jack thought. Obviously, he was going to be ordered to do something he wouldn't like.

General Hammond was still speaking. "If it comes to that."

Ok, enough was enough. "_He_ has a name. And _he_ is right here. Why don't you just tell me whatever the orders are? Sirs."

The Generals both ignored him. "He's getting testy already, George. Last chance. Are you sure you've got him on a tight enough leash?"

Jack opened his mouth to object, but stopped when Hammond raised his hand. "I have every confidence in Colonel O'Neill," he said gravely, eyes on Jack, willing him to understand how important this was.

The other General chuckled. "Your funeral, George." To Jack, he said, "Attention!" Jack was already stiff with anger; he moved that last resentful inch to full attention stance. "Left face." Jack turned, being the good soldier more for Hammond's sake than his own, but still slapping his heel down loudly to proclaim his resentment. This General had implied that Hammond had some stake in Jack's behavior. He owed it to the General to at least try to support him, whatever the hell was going on here.

"This is still my command," Hammond interrupted. "All officers will be shown the respect due their rank. There's no need to parade him over like a cadet in training." Jack held still, still at attention and facing left.

The other General considered. "Fair enough. At ease, Colonel."

Jack relaxed his stance. What the hell was going on here? Why wasn't Hammond taking a stronger stand? It wasn't like the man to wimp out. And Hammond wasn't outranked. In fact, since they were on Hammond's base, Hammond technically outranked this guy. It had to be something pretty important. What had Hammond said? "This is still my command." Was there a chance of Hammond losing his position based on Jack's behavior?

The other General waved him toward the door, which he dutifully held for the two superior officers. The Generals preceded him down the hall, not talking much to each other, and not at all to him.

They finally entered a conference room, one of the larger ones. This one had been arranged for a tribunal. The Generals sat at one end of the room, in the judges' position. With a sinking feeling, Jack paused, and was not surprised when Hammond waved him to the defendant's table. He crossed over as indicated, and sat, not receiving any answer to his questioning glance. He'd been in trouble before, lots of times, but rarely bad enough to warrant a tribunal. And never that bad without at least knowing what he'd done. He had not a clue why he was here. The incident with McKenzie was not enough to warrant this, even if the SFs hadn't made up their story about the marbles. Had some long past incident come back to haunt him?

"With all due respect, Generals," he began.

"Silence in the court," the other General ordered.

Jack looked to Hammond, got nothing back but pursed lips. He waited quietly, still trying to puzzle it out. What had the General said? "Doesn't look the type." The type for what? "Aggressive enough." Aggressive enough to do what? It had to be something he'd already done if he was on trial. But Hammond had told the other man that Jack would follow orders. 'Would', not 'did' follow orders. Like he was going to be ordered to do something. Why would he say that before a trial? No, wait, he had said Jack would follow orders "if it came to that." What did that mean? And what was all that about whether Hammond could control him? When had that ever been necessary? Ok, stupid question. It had been needed more than once. And, apparently, the new General thought it would be an issue now.

So, what did that add up to? He was on trial, so he was accused of something. Hammond believed he could be controlled with orders, if necessary, while the other man did not. So the trial was going to involve something that might make him lose control? What the hell could that be? He'd lost control before - lots of times, if he were honest, that Irish temper bedeviling him when provoked too far. But in a courtroom?

Ok, what else did he know? He looked around. No SFs. So far, at least. So, they weren't worried about him damaging anything or anyone if he did get angry. He made a mental note to watch who or what any security forces were protecting if and when they did come. Clearly, there was no concern for the Generals' safety or they wouldn't be here alone with him.

God, this was frustrating! No clues at all, except that he was in big trouble and that some stranger expected him to go ballistic for some reason. What could they possibly bring in, up, or down that would make them think that?

The new General looked him over disdainfully, and he tried hard not to scowl in return. And failed, apparently. The General turned to Hammond. "Are you sure, George? Look at him." He waved a callous hand at the Colonel.

'Him' couldn't keep the scowl back this time.

"I'm sure."

Hammond's simple words struck a chord. Hammond believed in him. And needed him; if he screwed up in here it was going to affect Hammond as well as himself. So he wouldn't screw up. Whatever this other General was up to, Jack was not going to let him win.

Hammond saw his second's face go suddenly blank, his body go still, and suppressed a smile. _That's it, Jack. Settle in for the fight. You've handled worse than this._

"George, I'm telling you as your friend..."

"And I'm telling you that I have complete confidence in Colonel O'Neill."

The General sighed. "All right, then. Let's get this over with." He pushed the intercom on the table and told someone outside to start sending people in.

They filed in somberly. Jack only recognized two of them: Major Davis and Frank Simmons. So Washington wanted to know how this little drama ended. The SFs, no less than six of them, closed the doors, staying inside the room. Two bracketed the doorway, two flanked the Generals, and two took positions behind Jack. All of them stared straight at him. Six? Watching him, protecting the Generals, and barring the door? He swallowed nervously.

Two more officers were carrying files; one went to the prosecutor's bench. The other, after a reassuring glance to check the nearness of the SF's behind the table, sat next to Jack.

"I'm Major Kelsey."

"What is --"

Jack's question was interrupted by the bang of the gavel. "Colonel Jonathon O'Neill, please rise." He did so, standing at attention facing the Generals. He could barely breathe, waiting to hear what the man would say.

Hammond stared at him, willing him to maintain his composure. This was the part he was most worried about. If Jack made it through the shock, he'd make it all the way.

"This is a preliminary hearing to determine the validity of charges that you have been physically abusing women under your command."

"What!!" He leaned forward, hands on the table. _No way_. In his wildest dreams about wild dreams, he never could have come up with this. The SFs behind him took a step closer, hands raised, ready to subdue him if necessary. He took a deep breath and glared at the General.

"The original charges were striking fellow officers and illegally using your rank to intimidate them into submission and silence. However, since all of the officers involved are female, and since some of your past experiences may provide mitigating evidence, it has been suggested that you have lost your reason to some degree."

Jack just stared, speechless. _Beating up women? Pulling rank on them?_ Maybe he had gone nuts-- he had to be hallucinating this.

"This is a preliminary hearing," the nameless General repeated. "If the charges have any merit, this court will determine whether they will be pursued in a court martial or medical setting."

God. If he didn't win today, they were going to lock him up. They were just deciding on whether he would have bars or padded walls.

"Please be seated."

His advocate pulled on him and he sat, still stunned. "Who...?" was all he could manage to say.

"Hasn't anyone discussed this with you?" The advocate shook his head slightly in disbelief. "If it please the court, I respectfully request a recess to discuss the issues with my client." He hadn't even stood up, certain that he would be granted this minimal request.

"Denied."

He stood now. "Generals, my client tells me that he has not been briefed on the situation. He needs to understand the charges against him."

"This is a preliminary hearing, not a full court martial. There will be ample time for legal details before the official proceedings."

_Before the official proceedings._ This kangaroo court had already convicted him. Jack closed his eyes and fought the bitterness. Why? Why was this happening? And why was Hammond just sitting there and letting it go on?

"Generals, with all due respect, I myself may have been misinformed. I request a recess to confer with my client."

"Denied. Prosecution may begin opening statements."

The advocate sat down. Why were they bothering with all this? The court should err on the side of caution and grant him all the time he wanted. But they didn't. And apparently no one had bothered to inform the accused either. Clearly, his client was not expected to be exonerated. Why not just submit the charges to a formal court? The answer came to him; obviously this was a formality. They all knew the man was guilty, but for some reason they needed to maintain the appearance of full attention to the law. This guy was on a fast track to a lockup somewhere. He wondered why they were in such a hurry about it.

He dug a sheet of paper out of one of his folders. "Here's the guest list." He shoved it towards his client while he listened to the prosecution describe their case.

Jack took it numbly. Who would accuse him of such a thing? Laura Standish. His heart sank. She had decided to ruin him. It would work, too, since McKenzie had seen the incident in the conference room.

But hers wasn't the only name.

Janet Fraiser. So much for 'no hard feelings' either way after the incident in the infirmary.

Kelly Hinton. Why her? Just because he didn't stop Morgan from playing her little joke about killing the witness to the leather coat? He should have let her fall down those stairs.

Nancy Emerson. There was a name from the past. But why bring that up now?

And...Samantha Carter.

No! Not Carter! Why would she do this to him? Was this what she had been telling Daniel about in the hallway? What was it she said? _The General knows now; he'll take care of it._

The prosecutor rose. "General Mason, General Hammond," he acknowledged the judges, finally supplying the name of the other officer. "There is evidence that Colonel Jonathon O'Neill has been systematically abusing women on this base. Several documented incidents will be described. Being that the women involved have not come forward voluntarily, it is presumed that Colonel O'Neill is ensuring their silence through ongoing threats of violence or by willfully using his rank as second in command of this installation to enforce their silence."

"Objection! Counsel is offering presumption, not fact."

Hammond answered first. "Sustained."

"Very well. There is evidence that Colonel O'Neill has abused multiple women on this base. Expert witnesses will testify that their reluctance to come forward is most likely a result of some form of intimidation." He looked a challenge to Kelsey. Getting no response, he continued. "It is an unfortunate fact that the Colonel has endured extreme violence himself. Expert witnesses will also testify that the specific situations may reasonably result in psychological damage that could engender the violent behavior observed." He looked at Kelsey again. "If defense counsel chooses to deny psychological damage and submit the accused for court martial, the prosecution will accept that decision." He smirked at his competitor.

Kelsey stared back calmly. It was a nice move on the prosecution's part, actually. Refusing the offer all but admitted that the Colonel was unbalanced. Accepting it would send him directly to court martial, which wasn't likely to be in his best interest. He was going to enjoy debating the man. He rose. "As I have already indicated, I am not certain that I have all the facts in this case. My client himself may not have been fully apprised. Therefore, the defense is not in a position to answer any such offer. Defense _is_ in a position to point out that Colonel O'Neill is a decorated career officer. A man who has defended his country in direct combat, offering his own life for the others in this room," ok, that was a bit flowery. He was surprised that the prosecution didn't object to it. "and who is entitled to every consideration of that country." He paused, letting that sink in, and congratulating himself on getting it past the prosecution. "As to the specifics, it is unquestionably odd that not one of the women came forward. Not a single one has confided in General Hammond. Not one has requested a transfer away from her alleged assailant. These are not meek housewives, gentlemen." He paused to look at each General in turn. "These women, each and every one, are soldiers. And not just any soldiers. To earn a place in this top-secret command, they must be the best. The very assumption that five such warriors could be intimidated by a single man raises reasonable doubt."

The attorneys jockeyed for a while, then were prompted to begin producing the evidence. Unseen, Carter, Daniel and Teal'c watched through the security camera.

oOo

They had examples to support their case. First, the pivotal moment, the event they suggested had broken him. They had the tapes of his recent captivity. Received anonymously, but verified to be unmodified original video.

Jack sat, carefully still, concentrating on his facial muscles to avoid showing any expression, as they started the show.

The mechanic paced around him slowly. "Welcome back Jack. Always good to see you, although I never thought you'd be the one in the chair."

He smiled ruefully. "Never thought I'd end up here, either. You re looking good; they must be treating you well."

To Daniel's utter disbelief, the tape showed the pair chatting amiably for quite a while before the woman sighed and rose.

"It's been great talkin' to you, Jack, but it's time to get to work. They're not paying me to chat."

"You could just tell them you're softening me up?" Jack suggested.

"Yeah." She laughed "They'll believe that!" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Unless you'd care to give me something?"

"You know I can't do that."

"I know." She agreed amicably. "Just thought I'd ask. For what it's worth, I don't think I'll be enjoying this."

"Then don't do it."

"Orders, Jack. You know it's nothing personal."

She asked him - actually asked - if he had any preferences on how to start. He knew she just wanted to get him thinking about all the techniques available to her. He ignored the scare tactic and used the opportunity to divert her for a few minutes by discussing the question. Would he get what he asked for? Or should he ask for what he least wanted with the assumption that she'd do something else? Or, since she'd know that he was thinking that, should he revert to what he did want? Or, since he knew that she knew... He went on as long as she permitted it, which wasn't long.

"Give it a rest, Jack. Got a suggestion or not?"

"This was never my strong suit." There was a reason that she, not he, had been the mechanic on the team.

"No, it wasn't," she agreed. "Although, you have it in you when someone pisses you off enough." She had turned away from him, chatting away. "Remember that guy who..." she turned back then, with her chosen implement in hand. The viewers didn't hear the rest of the sentence. They were staring at what she held. Jack, however, determinedly did not look at her hands. He watched her face, looking her in the eye and trying to distract her with more conversation. She wasn't buying it; playtime was over.

The audience grimly watched as the interrogation began in earnest. Saw it escalate as the stubborn Colonel refused to give in. Heard both try to use the former friendship to their advantage. She alternately cajoled and demanded, her voice correspondingly soft or hard. The things that got the most reaction she would repeat, again and again, saying the word 'again' just before she acted. Laughing at him when the word alone began to make him flinch.

Teal'c noticed the subtler things as well. O'Neill focused on her face; he knew that looking at the implement in her hands would only serve to make him focus upon it and intensify its impact. The woman clearly knew this as well; whenever she was using a smaller tool, she ran her hands through her short dark hair so her victim had no choice but to see it as it passed her face. When her hands became wet with his blood, she held them up, forcing O'Neill to see them, to watch his life sliding away drop by drop.

The video stopped when Jack was nearly insensible. After a flicker of blue, it began again with him still unconscious, but laid out spread eagle. The woman sat by. Watching. Nothing happened for a bit. The woman's eyes suddenly narrowed, as if she had spotted something. She half smiled, rose and went to perch next to the man, heedless of the blood on the table. You couldn't stay clean in this line of work.

"Come on, now, Jack. Open your eyes, I know you're awake."

No response. Couldn't she see he was unconscious?

"Do you really want me to make you open them?"

Reluctant brown eyes opened.

She smiled down at him. Raised a hand. He clenched his teeth as he saw the movement. She paused in surprise, then laughed a bit. "No, it's not that." Referring, no doubt, to some old memory they shared. "Not yet, any way." She smoothed the hair on his brow. "You've got a choice to make old friend." He just stared at her. "The brass is pretty pissed off at you. He wants the information, and he wants it now. If you spill it, he'll give you a quick out. Your choice, drugs, bullet, whatever you want." She made it sound like she was offering a real treat. "And if you don't, he'll keep you around indefinitely. Use you as training for the newbies to punish you. He hates you that much." She leaned close, looking at him earnestly.

"It could be _years_, Jack. Years before they let you die."

She paused, letting that sink in.

"You thought Iraq was bad... Imagine it never ending. Never."

oOo

The tape paused. "Did Colonel O'Neill discuss this experience with you, Doctor?"

"Not specifically."

"Why do you suppose that is?" The prosecutor sounded puzzled.

"I could only speculate." McKenzie knew full well any reason he offered could be shot down by another witness.

"In your opinion, is it possible that this could cause the Colonel to develop a hatred toward women?"

"Yes."

"So, there is already cause to believe he has issues with women."

"Quite possibly. Yes."

"Let's see what happens next." He restarted the tape. The machine had backtracked a few seconds automatically. And it began with her last whispered command.

"Imagine it never ending. Never."

After a pause, she began to list the things he had endured in Iraq, suggesting how each could be re-done and improved, showing him implements to prove she was ready to put the plan into action. The audience shuffled uncomfortably. Onscreen-Jack gave no obvious reaction to the words, laying stiff and still as she continued to talk.

"They shattered your teeth, eh? One," she drawled it out, "by one." She smiled. "Bet that was effective. I hear that they got them all," she went on, sounding disappointed now. "Show me, Jack. If they're really all crowns in there, I'll put these away." She held an awl and small hammer up, taking a sharp sample tap as incentive. That was a test, he knew. Once she got him to obey, any little thing, it would start to set the tone for him doing what he was told. Then there would be more offers or demands, with correspondingly more painful alternatives. He couldn't afford to cooperate, but the temptation was there; they both knew full well that the awl was useful for more than just teeth. The alternative, of course, was that she would continue with her other activities. Hell of a choice.

"It's just a scare tactic," he told himself. "She wants you to talk, she can't mess up your mouth. Don't listen, don't listen, don't listen."

She twiddled the awl at the base of his neck, where it met the shoulder, sliding it casually around as if she were doodling. She absently flicked a gash on his neck, where she had earlier pretended to go for his jugular. "I think I remember something else... What was it? Something about the front teeth... How'd they do the front, Jack? They couldn't have used a little thing like this." She tapped the awl on his skin as if it were a dry pen. Turned to look at her other hand, considered the implement there. "Oh, yeah!" she exclaimed, and slammed the hammer down.

Jack jerked his head to one side in an instinctive attempt to avoid the blow and she laughed at him. "So, you are paying attention." She tapped the hammer on the table where it had struck, her voice suddenly cold. "Look at me."

He didn't move, his head still to one side, eyes staring at the wall.

The hammer came down again and he cried out as it struck the awl and drove it through the flesh and into the table.

"Look at me or next I nail your ears to the table."

Ok, _that_ she could do and still leave him able to talk. He resentfully turned his head to look at her.

She sighed with relief. "Thanks." She set the hammer down. The volatility was part of the game; it was harder for him to maintain any effective mental or verbal defenses if her offense kept changing. In theory, there should come a point when he caved to either the reluctant or the angry persona. The laughing and teasing was just for variety, and because she liked it. "I don't want to do this, Jack."

"Then don't."

"Refusal is not an option, remember? I'll get worse than you if I don't follow orders." She grimaced. "Well, not worse, nothing could be worse than..." She shuddered, then leaned forward. "Do it, Jack," she urged. "Tell them what they want to know! Let me make it quick for you." No answer, but she could see he was thinking. "Come on, Jack." He was close, she could feel it. But how to push him over the edge?

She continued her descriptions, simulating each action now, sometimes with an empty hand, sometimes with a tool. Hurting him when she felt like it. Onscreen Jack squirmed, then actively began to try to get free, tensed muscles standing out as he pulled on the restraints. She kept at it. And he strained harder.

"No." He whispered. "No."

And still she talked, leaning close, mimicking the actions she described. Her voice was low. Intense. The audience couldn't hear her words, but they could see the effects.

She said something, motioning suddenly toward his left arm with her dagger. He pulled violently away. With a grotesque crack his shoulder popped out of its socket, and he cried out with the sudden pain.

She leaned on the injured arm. "It'll be much worse than this, Jack." She kept pressing. "So much worse when they --"

"Stop!" he demanded.

She paused, but didn't let up the pressure. He didn't speak and she pressed again.

"Stop! Stop, and I'll --"

"You'll what, Jack? Come on, give me something. Anything," she urged. "Let me help you."

Again, he hesitated and she gave him a little shove. "They did this in Iraq, didn't they? But they didn't just press it, did they?" She took a firm hold of his forearm. "They dislocated your shoulder and then --"

"Ok! Ok, I'll... I'll talk. Just don't... Not Iraq... Not again." He wouldn't look at her.

The prosecutor stopped the tape.

"So, Doctor. We see that this woman broke Colonel O'Neill, a man who prides himself on being unbreakable. Could this also cause him to have certain feelings toward women?"

"It certainly could. That was... Was..." McKenzie didn't finish, his first true exposure to torture being a shock.

Jack's advocate started to object, to debate some point of law.

"Finish the tape," Jack said grimly.

Everyone stared at him.

"Just play the damn thing!" He snapped, not meeting anyone's eyes.

The tape started, again going back a few seconds.

"Not Iraq. Not again." Courtroom-Jack suppressed a shudder.

Onscreen, the woman released the pressure, her expression somewhere between sympathy and disappointment.

"Ok, Jack. Talk to me and I'll do everything I can."

"Help me...? My shoulder...?" His voice was weak, his brown eyes pleading.

Her expression was definitely moving toward disappointment. She released his left wrist, her eyes on his face watching for treachery. Without a word, she snapped it abruptly up and back into place. He gasped, and she gave him a moment to recover.

It was all he needed.

He grabbed at her face with his free hand, fingers going for her eye sockets. She caught his hand a bare inch in front of her, blood from a wound on his arm spattering on her face.

"I knew you wouldn't break that easily," she crowed. Daniel swallowed. She considered that to be 'easily'? The woman would put some of the Goa'uld to shame. Her expression changed, looking offended. "Did you really think you'd take me that easily?"

"Can't blame a girl for trying." The casual humor didn't match the blatant fear on his face. He'd seriously tried to disable her, and she would surely have her revenge for it. He knew her, knew she was capable of extremes even when she wasn't pissed; her next action would be something exceptionally cruel, and probably something permanent for the sheer despair it would cause.

She smiled, still holding his hand. "That's the Jack we all know and love!"

"Love!" he snorted. His expression changed as he had an idea. One more last-ditch attempt. She'd gone for the shoulder thing, untying one hand, even though she should have used the injury to encourage him to talk. Maybe she'd go for this, too. He looked her in the eyes. "Maybe you should try that instead."

She gave him a puzzled look. He stretched his pinky finger from its prison near her face and stroked her cheek, ending with his fingertip barely grazing her lip.

She chuckled, but didn't move away. "You're joking!"

"It's a legitimate interrogation tactic."

"Not when the detainee is asking for it!"

"_Especially_ when he's asking for it."

"You're just stalling."

"Maybe. But maybe not." The finger moved slightly, tracing a tiny pattern on her skin.

"Jack," she drawled the word out. "What are you up to now?" The words were cynical, but the tone fond. He was glad to hear it; if nothing else, at least her anger was abating.

"There's an offer on the table. Literally," he half-smiled at his own joke.

"Get serious!" She cocked her head at him. "You do know that I wouldn't untie you to do it, right?"

"Always wanted to try out the bondage thing."

"Enough, Jack."

"Fine. Tell them I made you a simple offer and you refused. I'm sure your virtue is more important to them than any intel I might have.

She chuckled a bit. "My so-called virtue is not the issue. What you're up to is."

He looked away for a moment, then looked back into her eyes, doing his best imitation of Daniel's puppy-dog look. "I just blew my one shot to get out of here." She nodded slightly in agreement to that. "I know you can't let me live." Another nod. "This is really 'it' and I... I don't want to die like that."

She leaned close, her face barely in front of his, his hand trapped between them. "But you will. We both know it."

His face changed, a half-grimace as he forced a little nod of acknowledgement.

"What are you really up to, Jack?"

He looked back up, brown eyes sincere. "Time off for good behavior?"

She smiled wryly. Shook her head.

"Please," he coaxed. "I just can't face... not yet..."

She considered him carefully. "You're serious?"

"Dying wish?"

"We don't do charity here, Jack. You'll have to give me something."

He looked away. Bit his lip. After a pause, he whispered, "Ok." She didn't respond, and eventually he looked back and found her studying him.

He waited, gazing into her eyes, pleading with her silently to leave that one precious arm free.

"Are you sure?" She had given him an out, a last chance to change his mind. She could spare an hour to try it his way, but they both knew that if he didn't keep his side of the bargain, he'd have hell to pay.

"Beats the hell out of being beaten the hell out of."

"You ended that sentence with a preposition. Bastard!" She leaned the final inch and kissed him. He closed his eyes. Her left hand moved to his head, stroking his hair. Her right kept hold of his left.

Daniel stiffened. He had heard those words before. Jack had said those exact words to He'rak when the Jaffa had hurt him and threatened him with worse to come. Daniel, watching from his ascended state, had recognized the trademark O'Neill bravado. This woman obviously knew him well enough to know about his 'Conan the Grammarian' schtick, too. Maybe she had even heard those words in another place and time, when they were teammates. What must it have been like to have someone that close torturing you? Daniel was growing concerned about Jack's state of mind. He seemed pretty normal now, but after that...

Courtroom Jack watched the scene and remembered waiting for his moment, and beginning to fear it would never come. Finally, finally, she released his left hand. He swept it around behind her and grabbed her throat, squeezing for all he was worth. His weakened arm was bolstered by adrenaline and, to be honest, fear. If he failed again, her earlier actions would seem like party games. He struggled desperately to hold her against him as he crushed the life from her throat. If she got her arms solidly under her, she'd be able to pull out of his grasp. Full strength, he would have snapped her neck in seconds. But given his injuries, he didn't have the power for that and had to hope he had enough to choke her instead.

The struggle lasted for agonizing minutes, the combatants' grimacing faces bare inches apart. First one would appear to gain, then the other. Her efforts grew weaker but still he held on, fearing it was a trick. She was a macabre specter, her glazed eyes still open and staring sightlessly into his from her airless purple face. Finally, he released her and she slid to the ground. "Nothing personal," he said.

Onscreen Jack worked to free himself. There was absolute silence in the court. Everyone was gaping at Jack. In this day and age, most kills were made from a distance with conveniently de-personalizing weaponry. Many, if not most, of these people had never seen any kind of killing from close up, let alone a hand-to-hand fight to the death. Even the SFs had probably never taken a hand-to-hand fight further than mere fisticuffs.

He glared coldly back at them all, seeing the shock and revulsion on their faces. _Don't you dare condemn me for that_, he thought. _I'm what you made me. A soldier. You train us to fight, to kill, to survive, to escape. To do what needs to be done in whatever way it can be accomplished. Don't you dare turn on me now because what needed to be done was too ugly for you._

Jack's advocate finally spoke. "Yes, well, we have eliminated the concern that Colonel O'Neill broke under her interrogation." His voice strengthened. "And this also calls into question the proposition that this specifically made him hate women."

"Or maybe this is where he acquired his taste for hurting women."

Onscreen Jack freed himself and limped toward the door, slowed by injury and attempted stealth. He looked back at one point, as if in a remorseful glance; revealing his true motive as he wiped one bloodstained foot on the opposite pant leg to avoid leaving any more tracks.

"There is no basis for assuming that," the advocate objected.

They debated while the picture of the corpse lay in the otherwise empty room.

Sounds from the monitor interrupted them. Onscreen Jack was dragged back into the picture. The jeers of his new captors abruptly silenced as they saw their fallen comrade. Two pinned Jack to the wall asthe third checked on the woman.

He looked up slowly. "Dead." He advanced on Jack who stopped struggling and stared defiantly back. "You're gonna wish it was you."

"Is there any reason to watch any more?" the advocate objected. "We've demonstrated that he didn't break."

"I would like to see the end." McKenzie put in. "To see his mental state," he hastily added in response to the shocked looks that were now directed his way.

The tape was fast-forwarded, the participants looking like comedians as the high speed beating continued. _The Three Stooges Make Mincemeat_, Jack thought bitterly. There was no 'mental state' to evaluate, as Jack could have told them. They simply and coldly beat him unconscious, drawing it out until they felt he was sufficiently punished.

Finally finished, they rolled him onto his belly and secured his wrists behind his back with the leather bindings. Those bindings had stayed in place for three weeks, he knew now. Three weeks of exciting new tactics that failed to make him talk. Before they decided to sell him. The blindfold was next, the black band having the number eighteen on it in large white print. His designation. The only way anyone other than his interrogator knew him. Touch-Me Tina would later mistake its mate, seen from the side emblazoned in indelible ink on the skin of his back, for an underlined infinity symbol.

He was dragged out of the room by his feet, face bumping along the floor. The men in the tape switched off the camera.

oOo

The tape wasn't the only dramatic example they had. They brought out old mission reports, supposedly showing that his predilection for hurting women had already existed. So the defense could not claim that it was totally out of character for him to hurt women.

"Did you attack a Lieutenant Nancy Emerson during a mission to P3X-797?"

"No."

"Come now, Colonel," he began in that mock-reasoning tone Jack already hated. "I have reports on the incident. I can even bring her here if need be." He stopped in front of Jack. "Did you or did you not strike Lieutenant Emerson, a young female officer, on both sides of her neck?"

"We were --"

"Yes or no."

"It was --"

"Yes or no, Colonel."

"Yes." He glared at his nemesis.

"This report states that you were both captives at the time and that the young woman," again the slight emphasis on that, "was on her knees before you. Is this true?"

"Yes." That was hardly the whole story. Not that he really wanted to recount that particular mission in any case. He closed his eyes, remembering.

_He remembered her pale, drawn face as the guards returned her to the cell. No one moved as she entered, knowing that if they showed concern for one another it would just be used against them. She had wobbled over and slid down the wall to sit next to him, knees drawn up before her, arms clasped round them._

_He'd asked her if she was ok._

_"No," she answered, dropping her head to her knees._

_He put a hand on her shoulder. "You tried."_

_"I screwed up!"_

_That was true. In spades. She'd been the one to stand up and insult the guards, getting their attention despite his own attempts to do the same. Stupid. Noble, but still stupid._

_Wasn't entirely her fault, though. Her CO should have had "the talk" with her before she ever went on a mission. The "let the officers do the dirty work and take the abuse. It's part of their job" talk._

_He almost didn't hear her when she spoke again._

_"I need some advice," she whispered, not raising her head._

_Ok, private chat. He pulled the bill of his cap down a bit. "Yeah?" he answered quietly, following her lead._

_"They said I have to pick one of you to die." His hand tightened on her shoulder. "If I don't, they'll kill two of you and ask again. I told them to just kill me, but they said no. What do I do?"_

_"Pick me," he said, feeling her stiffen._

_"I can't do this."_

_"You don't have a choice. Pick me."_

_"There has to be another way!"_

_"Like what?"_

_"Maybe they won't really do it."_

_"Maybe," he conceded. "But maybe they will. That's what sucks about being a prisoner."_

_"Do you think they will?"_

_He considered. Better to err on the side of caution. "Yes." They just might do it, too; it would certainly send a message to the survivors._

_"I can't do this!"_

_"You have to. There's no other way."_

_She was silent for a while. "There is another way."_

_"What?"_

_"You kill_ me_. Now. Before they come back."_

_"What?! No!" This came out louder than he intended, and everyone looked._

_She looked up now. "It makes sense."_

_"It does not!"_

_"Does, too."_

_He almost smiled as he thought how this was like all his 'does not / does to' arguments with Daniel. But this wasn't Daniel. And it wasn't funny._

_"That's not how we do things, Emerson."_

_"It should be. It's a simple value proposition."_

_"What?"_

_"Like chess. You protect the most valuable pieces."_

_"They're not valuable if you don't risk them," he pointed out._

_"This isn't risk. It's a known outcome. You have to."_

_"Emerson." The voice at her shoulder startled her. "He can't give them any information. None of us can."_

_"I'm not asking him to_ talk_." She made as if to rise, turned suddenly and grabbed him by the throat. She twisted down to the floor so that he was over her. As expected, he automatically mirrored the move, grabbing her around the throat._

_He tried to roll them both over so the others could pull her off, but she braced her feet wide apart and kept him on top, kept squeezing his throat. His body protected her from the rest of the team. He'd have to kill her to make her stop. And he would, she figured, as there was something to gain from her death but not from his._

_He released his grip on her and put his hands on the floor. Just knelt there looking at her, refusing to do what she wanted._

_She squeezed harder and he grimaced but didn't move. Other hands pulled at hers, prying her fingers loose._

_She let go and dropped her hands to the floor. "Damn you!" she sobbed._

_"Emerson," he began, stopping when he heard the guards coming. Alerted, no doubt, by the scuffle. He sat back on his heels and pulled her up until she was kneeling before him._

_"Please!" she entreated, panic rising as she, too, heard the guards._

_"Emerson," he said quietly, leaning forward. She leaned towards him to hear. "Play dead," he whispered, too low for anyone else to hear._

_He slammed his hands down sharply on either side of her neck and she slumped bonelessly to the ground._

_The next moments were a blur as voices yelled and hands pulled him away. He struggled against them until the guards stunned them all to silence with a staff blast in the ceiling. In the sudden silence, the other captives released him and backed toward the walls. Carter and Teal'c hesitated, and he waved them away, too. He stood, alone and defiant, over Emerson's body. Gloated over it, actually, to ensure that he had the guards' attention now. They had punished him for both action and attitude, but it was worth it to spare Emerson and take back control. He remembered looking back at her, slumped and 'dead' on the floor, before they --_

He jumped at the touch on his arm, and both attorneys jerked away from him.

"Colonel," he repeated sternly. "I asked you a question. Did you enjoy hearing her beg for mercy?"

He just stared incredulously.

"Answer the question, Colonel."

"She di--"

"Yes or no, Colonel."

"I can't answer that question."

"Your advocate's objection was already overruled, Colonel. This has bearing on when exactly you found you liked hurting women." He paused, asking with more force, "Did you enjoy hearing her beg for mercy?"

"She didn't beg for mercy!"

"I have a report here that says that her last word before you struck her was 'please'. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"So she was begging for mercy."

"She was begging me to kill her." He looked straight into the man's eyes, watched them widen.

"Oh, please! You expect us to believe..."

"Hear the Colonel out," Hammond said.

Simmons scowled.

"The Goa'uld had given her a choice. Pick one of us to die or they'd kill two and ask again. She offered herself, they refused. She asked me to kill her so she wouldn't have to choose. I knocked her out and told the guards she was dead."

"And they didn't check?" disbelief was evident in his tone.

"I distracted them." Again, he stared straight into the man's eyes, daring him to ask for details of that.

oOo

They weren't through yet. Not by a long shot.

"There is medical evidence as well, that Colonel O'Neill may have been impaired by his experience." The prosecution entered Dr Fraiser's mission report into evidence.

"Dr Fraiser describes an incident involving the Colonel on the journey across the desert." The man turned to the Generals, arms spreading in a wide gesture. "Due to a tactical error," he looked pointedly at Jack, "the tickets booked on an airline could not be used."

"Objection!" Jack's counsel stood. "Colonel O'Neill did not make a tactical error. He was not even in command at that time. The air trip was not possible because Dr Fraiser touched an Arabic man, and touched off an incident."

The prosecutor smiled. "So, a _woman_ ruined his easy, safe trip home. And the_woman_ who was in command failed to prevent it. More events that could conceivably alter Colonel O'Neill's perceptions regarding women."

Kelsey dropped into his chair and closed his eyes. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_, he thought to himself. _Played right into their hands. Would have been better to leave them thinking O'Neill was incompetent._

Jack ignored him, fixated on the prosecutor's next words. The nightmare wasn't a dream after all. He listened as the prosecutor read from Dr Fraiser's report, vivid images of the events playing in his head. The bloody hands. Fraiser yelling at him. Blood dripping from her red-stained finger as she jabbed it toward him, demanding that he talk. A woman screaming, arching off the table. The bloody hand. Demands. Pain. Blood.

And that other thing. The thing he had refused to admit, even to himself. The thing that scared him most of all. The thing that would undermine everything he believed about himself.

She had been yelling at him, trying to make him talk. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't.

But he had.

It was all real. All except the identity of the other victim; the woman with the mole on her neck who he'd thought was the dark-haired Carter.

It took some time to register it all. He was oblivious as they finished discussing Fraiser's report, barely noticed as they discussed the injury to Carter on the Pansy Planet. He didn't even respond when they likened Carter's 'stairs' comment to that exact same injury inflicted on Lieutenant Hinton, or when a junior officer came quietly in and handed a paper to General Hammond.

Generals Hammond and Mason consulted briefly over the document before the trial ended as suddenly as it had begun. The bang of the gavel startled him out of his reverie; he listened with incredulous relief as they said the trial -- hearing -- was over. Not waiting to see if they'd change their minds, he stalked wordlessly out of the room.


	20. Chapter 20: Reasons

oOo Chapter 20: Reasons

"With no due respect, General, what the hell was that all about?" Daniel demanded, slamming the door behind him. They had been unable to gain access to the conference room, but thanks to the security cameras, they knew exactly when it ended. Which was over two hours ago. They had searched vainly for Jack in that time, growing more concerned by the moment.

"Calm yourself, Dr Jackson, or I will have you restrained!" Jackson wasn't the only one under stress lately, and he'd be damned if he'd be talked to like that in his own office. An SF poked his head in, checking whether the General needed or wanted assistance with unruly visitors. Hammond looked at Daniel, who straightened reluctantly to stand by his teammates. Hammond waved a hand and the SF departed.

Teal'c took over. "General Hammond, we would like to know the purpose of that proceeding, and the reason for your... unusual... behavior." He stood, tall and serene, hands behind his back, waiting for his answer. Hammond knew he'd wait as long as necessary to get it.

"That was a test. To see if Colonel O'Neill can still handle himself under duress. I don't like it any more than you do."

"Couldn't you have done something to avoid it?"

"I could have replaced him as second in command."

"What?! Why?"

"Politics, Dr Jackson. There are those who would prefer to see the SGC in other hands. They tried to take advantage of Colonel O'Neill's alleged weakness and put one of their own in his place. We had to demonstrate that he was capable under stress or else replace him."

"But, sir, why this as the test? Wouldn't it be better to test him in the field?"

"Given that they were challenging his mental capacity, weapon related situations were too risky for the other personnel involved, Major. This... situation... ensured that he would be unarmed and drew upon recent events to give it credibility."

"I still can't believe you let them do that to him!"

Hammond gave the archaeologist a warning glare. He was angry enough about what he had been forced to do, and he didn't have to explain himself at all, let alone permit the man to berate him. Did Jackson think he was so cruel or insensitive as to willingly subject his second-in-command, his friend, to such an ordeal? "They had a valid point; this facility does need effective leadership. I never doubted that Colonel O'Neill would come through, but apparently you don't agree with my assessment." Jackson suddenly averted his eyes, and Hammond's worry over his second increased even higher. Apparently, the archaeologist, one of O'Neill's best friends, really didn't agree with his assessment.

"Why did you let them use me, General?" Carter demanded angrily. "You know he didn't do anything wrong on that mission."

"And I knew that you would testify to that effect if this should go any further."

"Why did it stop so abruptly?" Teal'c asked, remembering the messenger and the sudden end to the proceedings.

"When Simmons produced that tape of the Colonel's... interrogation... it suggested a potential link between Simmons and the rogue Special Ops agent who started all this." They all knew about that, and that Special Ops was investigating the affair, trying to identify the rogue among their ranks. "I had my people look into it from that point of view, and they found a connection between Simmons and a certain AWOL agent. The information came through in the middle of the hearing, at which point Simmons and General Mason put an end to the test."

In the past few hours, he had received additional information that the agent had been captured. By the civil authorities, whom the SGC had advised to watch for the man. Hammond would take great pleasure in telling Colonel O'Neill that his assailant was neutralized. Even if Special Ops whisked the agent off somewhere for 'debriefing,' General Hammond doubted that he would be free anytime soon.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come."

The SF opened the door. "We have not located Colonel O'Neill yet, sir. Dr Levi is reporting as ordered." Hammond nodded and the man stepped aside to allow the psychiatrist to enter.

"Dr Levi, come in." Hammond sat at his desk, a worried trio standing around the other side of it. He didn't waste any time. "Colonel O'Neill is missing. I'd like your opinion as to his mental state."

"Did something happen?"

"All in good time, Doctor. First, I want your professional opinion."

She eyed the others in the room.

"They're his family, Doctor. You can speak freely."

"I've been reviewing the Colonel's sessions, and I believe I've found the root issue. I believe he feels betrayed, sir. On so many levels, and as a result of many related and unrelated incidents. However, as long as there are no further incidents, with some time and trust-building, I feel that he will be able to resume active field duty."

"Betrayed? How?"

She opened her notebook. The list was too long to remember off the top of her head. First, his own countrymen taking him prisoner. Then the torture, by not just any countryman, but by a former close friend and teammate. He had survived that encounter largely due to the absolute conviction that his team was coming for him, a belief that was first upheld when they came then dashed when he found that the rescue was the result of a chance discovery on the Internet. His mixed reception at the base as the casual water-cooler gossip about his death was replaced by renewed background checks, increased scrutiny, and tiresome security measures. A myriad of smaller things. The touch therapist over stimulating his pressure point, compounded by the medical staff sympathizing with the therapist instead of the Colonel. Discovering that Laura Standish was the new psychiatrist on base and suspecting that she had never truly been a friend. Possibly the infirmary treatment that had triggered his flashback. Some less clear hints about close friends, heard in offhand comments and innuendos. She raised an eyebrow at his teammates. Carter, Daniel, and even the General shuffled uncomfortably but did not speak. Only Teal'c regarded her without a visible qualm.

"It's not as bad as it might sound," she reassured them. "He is making progress already, and despite his current hesitancy to trust, I see no reason for him to go AWOL." She set the notebook down, noting the expressions around her, and had a thought. "General, please tell me he hasn't been abducted again."

"No, we don't believe he has been abducted."

No one looked happy, though. "You called me here for a reason, General. Has something happened?"

He told her about the mock trial and her heart sank. She asked about the 'evidence' presented and the picture darkened further. "General, I have to be honest. I can't be certain without evaluating him, but this may have been too much for him at this point."

"What are you saying, Doctor?"

"Absolute best case, he just needs some time alone and will return on his own volition. Worst case, he may be dangerously unstable. Without having seen the proceedings, I can't estimate which end of the spectrum he is nearer." She paused. "It may be prudent to send Drs McKenzie and Standish and perhaps Major Carter off-base until the Colonel is located."

"Are you suggesting that they are in danger from Colonel O'Neill?" Hammond held up a hand to silence Major Carter, who was posing a more immediate threat to Dr Levi.

"I can't say anything for certain, sir. I will suggest, given his extensive combat experience, that you are very careful in searching for him. Do not expect him to trust anyone."

"Thankyou, Doctor. I'd like you to stay on base in the event that he is found soon."

She nodded acknowledgement and left, shaking her head.

Hammond reluctantly denied SG-1's request to search for him alone. An unstable Jack O'Neill was simply too dangerous to be left loose for long. The General carefully assembled search teams of combat-skilled officers who could be counted on to maintain their own self-control if they had to bring him in forcibly. Some began re-checking the base while others went to investigate places the Colonel was known to frequent.

The situation was kept quiet otherwise. Hammond had Jack paged several times so that anyone not involved in the search would be likely to comment on seeing the Colonel. But they wouldn't confront him, and that was what the General wanted to avoid. The people in his command were the best, but Jack was among the best of the best, and few other officers would have a chance against him.

It was the most he could do for the protection of all involved.

When they had all gone, he sat alone in his office, waiting for the call that would tell him it was over. If he'd only known. Obviously, the man would have issues after his experience, but how was he to know how directly the 'test' would target them?

oOo Finale

Jack walked slowly along the path. The weather was raw, but it suited his mood. An unseasonably cold wind whipped the slate gray clouds and promised more rain to keep the already wet ground slick Around him, the paths were barren, the benches unoccupied, adding to the desolate feel of the place.

The wind knifed through him, cold and sharp, like the betrayal of his friends and colleagues. Its bitterness matched his own. At least it would keep others away; he did not want to talk to any well-meaning strangers today. No one he knew would look for him here, if anyone bothered to look for him at all; as far as he knew, he was the only one who ever came to this place. He could be alone here, could think and maybe sort out the confused emotions that had been raging through him since that ghastly hearing.

And if he decided to act on the thoughts that had been intermittently insinuating themselves into his mind since his return to the States, this would be the place.

He stopped near one end of the curving, hip-high obelisk, his hand sliding along its smooth granite top. He crouched, and his fingers slid over the edge and down the front, tracing the gold script letters of Kawalsky's name. "Hey, Charlie. Guess 'the day' came after all, eh?" He traced every letter, taking his time, giving Kawalsky his due remembrance one last time.

Kawalsky had been such a vibrant man. Enthusiastic and funny, sometimes cocky but never taking it too far in battle or barroom. He would have been a good leader; his men had already looked up to him before that fateful first-and-last mission. He traced the final 'Y' an extra time. "Why, Charlie?" he mouthed. Why had all of this happened?

Walking to the end of the monument, he crouched again and dug at the rain-softened earth with his penknife. Buried just an inch down was a small metal key. He freed it from it's little grave, and covered the spot carefully before returning to Kawalsky's crypt.

He had fought hard to have the man's wishes honored. Kawalsky had wanted to be cremated, to be sure there was nothing left of that "that thing" in him. Jack, alone, had stood up for that last request. Kawalsky's men had not stood with him, too intimidated by the brass or too unconcerned with the fate of their former leader's dead body. One had even suggested that the 'interests of science' were more important than the last wishes of a dedicated soldier fallen in the loyal service of his country. Kawalsky had no family, which may have been one of the reasons he was chosen for that first Abydos mission. So it had been up to Jack. To ensure he was cremated. To find a place for his remains. To visit. To remember.

He used the key and opened the crypt. The cemetery staff would have opened it for him without question, as they had in the past, but he had 'borrowed' the key and made his own copies anyway. One at home in a drawer. The other here, just in case.

The small granite square came away easily in his hands, and he laid it down gently, careful not to scratch it. Looking inside, he was struck, as he always was, at how small the velvet bag of ashes was. How very little was left of the vital man. He reached inside the crypt and removed the toy airplane from beside him. He could never call his friend 'it', even in ash form.

The plane was an old model, small enough to fit in the crypt with Kawalsky's ashes, and metal, the way they used to make them. It was dinged up, and one propeller was bent. Not so bad as to be an insult to Kawalsky, but not so good that anyone would want it. Clearly a memento. Jack spun the bent propeller with his finger, and remembered finding this-- along with the other four that made up its squadron-- with his son. They had had fun with them, had 'fought' them in dramatic air battles in the yard and in the house.

It was during a battle for aerial superiority over the couch that Charlie had tripped on a lamp cord and fallen. The boy was fine, but horrified to find that his aircraft had suffered a fatal wound, one whole panel of its belly broken off. They had discovered that the panel would snap back into place, and new adventures were born. Imaginary soldiers had parachuted out of it, bombs had been dropped-- including that unfortunate red-jello balloon that deployed prematurely and landed on grandma-- cardboard radar and telescopes had dangled from it.

Now it held a roll of cash, a credit card, and id with a blurred photo waiting to be replaced. Vital items, stashed in case of an emergency way back when NID and other government and military types had started messing around the SGC. In case Jack ever needed to disappear or take hard-to-trace actions. The boy scouts had nothing on Special Ops when it came to being prepared. He thought Kawalsky would be pleased to carry out this one last mission, guarding this little cache. Watching his buddy's six, even though Kawalsky would have thought this was way overboard. Well, Kawalsky would never have believed that the military was out to kill one of its own, either.

_Why not? You killed Kawalsky_.

He shivered suddenly at the thought. He had ordered Kawalsky's death. Sure, he had his reasons. There was a Goa'uld in Kawalsky and they had no idea how to get it out. But Jack had still been the one to give the order. Jack had made the final decision, had taken away all hope, all possibility of future reprieve. Did the reasons really matter?

Did it matter, Jack thought bitterly, why _he_ had been chosen as the unwilling informant? The still-unknown instigator had some reason for his decision, too. There were reasons behind everything that had happened recently, from the smallest twist of the knife in his back to the cruelest stab.

He crouched there, thinking, remembering, not moving save for one thumb barely twitching the bent propeller of the little plane.

There were reasons for everything. Even his slowness to recover had a cause. He hadn't been sure he wanted to recover. Or deserved to. Because recovery meant accepting what he had done, as well as what had been done to him. Deep down inside, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it or push it away, he knew that the dream was really a memory. Parts of it, anyway. That part. The one thing he couldn't accept.

He had done what the dark woman demanded. And the other -- the innocent -- woman had suffered.

The memory had scared him badly; he had been so afraid that he wasn't the man he thought he was! _You may be forced to participate in your own abuse_, his trainer had told him. He understood that, had experienced it. _You may be given choices_. He'd experienced that, too. But he had never chosen himself above another officer. Never. He'd chosen the safety of his team over that of another individual. But he'd never done it to save just himself. Never.

Until now.

And he hadn't chosen himself over some nameless stranger. He'd chosen himself over Carter. His own teammate. His second in command. His friend.

He had pushed the memory away because it had undermined his whole concept of himself, of strength, character, and duty. He denied it, and went through with the pretense of healing. He admitted that the little twists of the knife hurt, resented it on the surface, but inside he had accepted that pain as only his due. He had been trapped; unable to acknowledge the memory, unable to let himself ignore it.

Until the hearing. Funny, in a way, that a proceeding meant to incarcerate his body had freed his soul instead.

He understood it now. Well, mostly. He could match the memories with their respective realities now. The beginning of the dream was easy; his treatment at the hands of his old friend. An obvious memory with intense clarity even now. He shuddered as he heard her say 'again' in his mind. 'Again' and 'again' and 'again.' Her face floated before his closed eyes. Her face, and her hands dripping with his blood.

The image blurred, then resolved into Fraiser. Her face. Her dripping red hands. The similarity of the situations had triggered a flashback, then and again later. Every night, actually. In his dream.

It had happened on the trip home. In one hot, dusty little town they had come across a man whose wife was giving birth. He was frantic; the child was early, there were no female relatives about to help. The other village men were out working; their wives could not come to his house without a relative as escort. He had seen the travelers and fairly thrown himself at the feet of the younger woman among them, begging her to assist his beloved wife.

They had naturally agreed. Fraiser did not speak Arabic so Jack, as the other 'woman' present, had to translate. With no way to know how the man felt about Americans, Jack had thought of another language that could safely be used in his presence. Fraiser spoke in pig-Latin so as not to give away their nationality, and Jack translated into Arabic for the woman.

There was something wrong; even Jack knew there was too much blood. Fraiser's hands were covered with it and the sheets were soaked. The doctor worked on her for a while and Jack just held the woman's hand and soothed her.

Finally, it was time to push. Fraiser told him, and he told the woman. She did as they said. And a few more times after. Suddenly, the woman cried out 'no!' and arched off the bed. She flopped back, and he could see the mole on her neck, just where the curve of her jaw met it. She turned her head, looking toward him for support, her expression very much like Carter's when she was injured in battle. Needing relief, knowing it wasn't going to be coming soon.

It was at that moment that Fraiser said 'Again' and he froze. "Again!" she demanded. "Again! Tell her! Do it!" The rest was kind of fuzzy. The similarity had triggered a flashback. He remembered yelling and hands and blood and screams and a body -- his body, her body, Carter's body -- arching in pain.

He shook his head a bit as he came abruptly back to the here and now. To Kawalsky's crypt and the cold wet wind in the cemetery.

He hadn't understood the dream until they discussed the incident at the hearing. Even now, he didn't have a clear memory of that afternoon. The reality of the birth was so intertwined with the flashback that it was hard to separate them. But he knew now that "Carter's" impossibly arched back had been the other woman's gravid belly rather than some hideous torture. Fraiser hadn't tortured anyone. And he hadn't saved himself at someone else's expense.

He could make peace with himself now. Could have done it days ago if McKenzie had let him see the field reports. His lips compressed in anger at that thought, and at how he had accepted all the other 'misunderstandings' and 'betrayals' recently. Every twist and jab of the knife paraded through his mind, one memory blending into the next. He hadn't even tried to address any of it, feeling instead that the hurt was justified after what he had done. That he had earned much worse.

He didn't deserve such treatment. But he knew who did.

Those at fault would pay. Handsomely.

Some part of his mind said that he should wait, be reasonable, think about things more. But it was overruled by the larger, angrier part that shouted that Jack O'Neill had been hurt too much for too long to think anymore. He was ready for action.

He had his reasons.

Jack pocketed the items, closed up the toy, and put it carefully back inside next to Kawalsky. Sealing up the compartment, he left the cemetery, walking with purpose this time

oOo

"You're in early again, Colonel."

"Yep. How was Field Day?"

The sergeant smiled, pleased that this important man had remembered that. "It was good. Wet, but good."

Jack smiled back at him and turned to go. The sergeant hesitated, and Jack thought he might ask to inspect the briefcase he was carrying. _Don't, please don't_, he hoped silently.

The sergeant waved him on through. As ordered, he'd wait till the man was out of sight before phoning General Hammond. He hoped the Colonel wasn't in any trouble.

That was close, Jack thought to himself. Most days, he wouldn't have minded. His briefcase rarely had anything of interest in it, when he bothered to carry it at all. He couldn't exactly take classified materials home with him. But today was different. He'd gone so far as to prepare to pull rank on the sergeant if he tried to check it -- after all, Jack was the one of the people who would _get_ the call if someone had contraband. Nope. No one else was going to get this case open while Jack O'Neill was still breathing.

He leaned against the elevator wall, running through his tactical plan one more time.

He eased along the wall near the infirmary door, carefully out of sight of the security camera, frowning as he realized there was more activity than there should be. Apparently, they had acquired new patients during the night.

Ok, new plan. He slid his tiny mirror out of his pocket and extended it carefully along the floor till it reflected the scene in the infirmary. Doctor, two nurses. He waited there, wishing them away, listening carefully for anyone to come down the hall. If they did, he'd just tie his shoelace and go on his way.

Finally, they split up. One nurse to the desk, the other to a patient. The doctor went into the office next to Fraiser's. Damn. He'd need a diversion. He stood up straight, walking past the security camera normally, so he wouldn't seem out of place if anyone checked. Out of its sight, he ducked into the first exam room. Slowly from there to the next, and the next, till he was next to the first room with an inmate. An evil smile spread slowly across his features as he heard the steady beeping of the heart monitor. One diversion, coming up.

He heard all three of them come racing in as the distinctive 'flat-line' wail of the monitor shrilled. Smugly, he slipped down the hall to Fraiser's office. Damn that woman! She locked her door. Listening intently, he quickly picked the lock and entered, closing the door behind but not turning on the light. Feeling his way to her desk, he put the case on the floor and opened it. He found the items he wanted by feel, and put them into position. That Special Ops training came in handy on-world as well as off. Closing the case, he carefully stood by the door waiting his chance to escape unnoticed. No problem, the medical staff was still with their patient.

Jack left the infirmary and headed for his next stop. No one saw him plant the round green object in Dr Standish's mailbox. Even she wouldn't see it until she lifted off the small mountain of magazines and ads in there.

There sure were a lot of people about at this early hour. He had to duck into storerooms twice to avoid being seen on the way to Daniel's office. In the hall near Carter's lab, he tried the same trick, but found the maintenance room packed. He grabbed a mop and set to work on the floor, head down. Three men passed him by without a second glance.

Amazing how easy it was to hide in plain sight. Rank wasn't obvious in fatigues, and they had ignored the lowly maintenance man, not even noticing that the floor under his mop was dry. He rolled his eyes. And they called themselves Security Forces.

He frowned. SF's? Three at a time, at this hour? Too much traffic in the halls?

He mopped his way down the hall in the direction the SFs had come from, sketchily swiping the floor as he went. Around the corner and down the hall toward the nearest SF office. Empty. The man who should be here had gone with the pair he would typically dispatch. He glanced at the desk. Nothing. The computer screen showed a freeze-frame of him near Daniel's office.

So. They were looking for him. Well, he wasn't about to be found.


	21. Chapter 21: Epilogue

oOo Chapter 21: EPILOGUE

Dr Standish scooped the pile out of her mailbox, feeling a solid object sliding between the paper. She hugged it all against herself so nothing would fall as she made her way to her desk. Leaning over, she dropped it carefully into her in-box.

She lifted the top layer of paper to expose a round, green object.

She smiled as she lifted the jar of salsa. The green kind. A token of friendship from Jack.

oOo

Dr Fraiser unlocked her office and stopped suddenly.

Someone had been here.

And someone was sitting in her chair.

She smiled as she picked up the bear. He held her "Pooh's Grand Adventure' cd in his arms, explaining who had been here. And, in all probability, the source of the early morning heart-monitor malfunction.

oOo

Daniel fingered the small object, feeling it warm under his fingers, still hardly believing his eyes.

A replica of his medallion, found under his coffee cup when he picked it up that morning.

It was the dull silver of pewter instead of shiny gold. And it had a line all round the edge where the sides of the mold had been joined. He knew Jack would tell him later that he could have it sanded smooth and painted or plated with gold. But he wouldn't do it. It would never be the original.

It was better.

The original had represented a lot to him: his home on Abydos. Sha're. Kasouf. Skaara. Adventure. Incredible discoveries. Vindication, though they didn't know it yet, among his archaeological peers. He used to look at it when he was feeling low, to help him remember, to give him strength.

By the time he had packed it up to send to its new owner he couldn't stand to look at it. It made him think of his own pettiness in refusing to sell an object to save his best friend. And how that must have made Jack feel, especially while he was struggling by himself with the budget. Another little betrayal to add to all the others.

And despite it all, Jack had given him this gift. All his good memories of the original back, plus the reminder of their friendship. Did it matter if both were a little rough around the edges?

This was definitely better.

oOo

Hammond waved Teal'c into his office to join the crowd. They had all come straight to him, each triumphantly brandishing their newly-discovered memento as proof that the Colonel was alive and mentally well. Each demanding that he call off the troops searching for Jack and set the record straight on the man's status.

All they needed now was the Colonel himself.

The man who inspired enough loyalty for a half a dozen people to brazenly confront their base commander on his behalf.

The man who was still missing. Was he just being modest, as the people in his office insisted in their zeal to believe he was well? Or were these mementos his way of saying goodbye?

oOo

"My records show that Colonel O'Neill signed in at 04:48 on Tuesday and did not sign out until 18:10 on Friday." Hammond didn't mention that the Colonel had somehow signed _in_ two more times since Tuesday morning without ever signing out till Friday. He'd discuss that little issue privately with O'Neill. He would not tolerate a secret exit from his base other than the one he periodically allowed while testing the cadets. But Simmons didn't need to know there had ever been one.

"General, please," Simmons scoffed. "This whole thing has O'Neill's signature all over it."

"First, you say the man is incompetent, now you say he carried out covert operations without even leaving this base? You can't have it both ways, Colonel. If you put it in writing that your accusation of incompetence was false, then I will investigate this new accusation of impropriety." Hammond waited for his answer.

As expected, Simmons flatly refused to put anything in writing. The official record would show that Major James Michaels had had a change of heart and confessed kidnapping, assault, and attempted murder to the public authorities. That he had done so while waiting to be handed over on lesser charges to the relatively benign custody of his own chain of command was in no way related to any actions on the part of one Colonel Jack O'Neill.

Hammond personally was certain that there was a connection, but did that matter if justice was served? He was still not clear on exactly how Jack had figured out that Michaels was behind it all, let alone how he had gotten to the man while he was in police custody. The Colonel had not been surprised to hear the news, but all he would admit was that the very attempts to drive him crazy had triggered the realization of who had started it all. As for his whereabouts during the time he was off-base, Jack said only that he had checked that Charlie and Michael made it to day-care safely. His way of telling Hammond that the children used against him were unharmed. He knew better than to compromise himself by saying anything more.

Michaels had confessed shortly before O'Neill had checked back in Friday. And that was before Hammond had had a chance to share his information with O'Neill.

The man admitted to kidnapping an Air Force officer with the intent to torture him to death. He threw himself on the mercy of the court with a plea of no contest. James Michaels professed remorse, saying that even if he blamed O'Neill for the death of his brother Colonel John Michaels on a mission gone bad years ago in Germany, he had no personal right to exact retribution.

There would be no public mention of attempting to extract information from his victim or of selling the man to what he believed to be a foreign power. However, the Federal government reserved the right to prosecute him on those crimes if and when he was freed by the civil authorities.

Not perfect. But Colonel O'Neill said it would do.

The Colonel had been in a very forgiving mood since his final return to the base. More upbeat than the General had seen him in a long time.

Not perfect. But it would do.

oOo

"Come."

Dr McKenzie entered, and shut the door behind him.

"What's up, Doc?" Jack had waited a long time to get to use that one.

Now that he was here, McKenzie didn't quite know what to say. He couldn't get over what he had seen in that video. Sure, they had discussed that sort of thing in school. Showed pictures of the aftermath, even. Clinically discussed the likely emotions and best approaches for treatment. Studied session reports from victims. But to see it happening... He shuddered.

Jack watched the man standing in front of him. McKenzie stared silently back, then shivered as if he felt a cold draft. "You ok?"

The doctor nodded. Sat down in a chair. Still didn't say anything. What do you say to a man like this? 'I had no idea'?

"Do you want me to call Dr Fraiser for you?" Jack asked. The shrink was creeping him out. Sitting there staring at him.

"No. I just... I guess I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Jack sat back. Here was his chance. One free opportunity to let the Doc have it. To rip holes in the man's ego the size of the ones in his own soul. He was gonna enjoy this!

He took a deep, anticipatory breath. And stopped. The man before him was wretched. Not the puffed up, self important bozo he was used to seeing.

So what? After what he'd just been through, he deserved a chance to vent. He started again.

And stopped.

Considered.

"You were defending your teammate. I respect that."

McKenzie's jaw dropped.

"You went about it all wrong." McKenzie stiffened, ready to get chewed out. "But the intent was right." Jack waited for a response.

"How can you say that?" McKenzie looked stunned.

"It's my job as a leader to do what's best for the people under my command. And that includes you. I will caution you, however." Jack paused, watching McKenzie, knowing the man was wondering if he was about to be threatened. "If a situation like this ever comes up again, get some help working it out. A lot of good officers went through a lot of unnecessary stress over this."

McKenzie paused, chewing his lip. What could he say? "Thankyou." He rose and left, humbled. Colonel O'Neill was the better man.

Jack watched him leave then sat back, content. That had been more satisfying than blasting him would have been. Sure, ripping into him would have felt good for the moment. But McKenzie would have listened to him rant, then forgotten it, considering himself absolved. Instead, Jack had made the man think about what he had done, and about how he should try to change in the future. That was the kind of thing that would sting McKenzie more than nasty words.

That, and besting him at his own holier-than-thou game. Nothing would get to the dear doctor more than someone else being the bigger man.

Know your enemy.

oOo

Kresge trudged over to the maintenance closet. Even his old job in the mailroom had been better than mopping floors. He opened the door and bent to retrieve his bucket, only then noticing that the mop was missing. He looked again. Definitely not there.

Crap. He'd get way behind looking for it. If he asked anyone about it, or tried to borrow another, all he'd get would be wisecracks about 'assuming' that it would be in the closet.

He slammed the door shut. One stupid mistake, assuming that Colonel O'Neill would get a copy of the quarterly budget as usual, and he was screwed for the rest of his term of duty.

He wondered if the missing mop was Dr Jackson's addition to his misery.

First, the General had reassigned him from mail to maintenance, after grilling him about any other mishandled mail. He'd felt lucky to escape the base commander without jail time.

Then Major Carter had reamed him thoroughly. He was sure she was behind all the disgusting spills he'd been sent to clean up, too. The big alien, Teal'c, had also made his displeasure clear, verbally as well as by 'asking' his assistance with a self-defense demonstration in the gym. He had even gone to Kresge's new commanding officer to suggest that Kresge needed thorough and detailed supervision as he could not be trusted with the simplest tasks.

He sighed and went off in search of a mop. He rounded the corner and saw his replacement delivering the mail to the SF office and sighed again. Four hundred and twenty seven days left in this term of duty. And counting.

oOo

"I'll drive," Jack offered. He'd finally made peace, or at least accomplished a mutual non-aggression pact with the little car. He'd never admit it to anyone else, but he was becoming fond of it. There was a lot of power packed into that little body, and it was more agile than his truck.

"Did you get a new car?" Daniel asked.

"Not yet." He led them toward the small almond vehicle.

Carter could swear she saw the little sports car cringe as the four of them approached it. "I'll ride shotgun!"

Daniel closed his eyes in resignation. At this moment, there was nothing he would refuse his friend, not even this. Even if four people their size would probably fit more comfortably on Sam's motorcycle. He opened the door and climbed in back. Wasn't as bad as he had feared. If he sat sideways, with his legs behind the opposite seat, it was comfortable enough.

Until Teal'c climbed back there with him.

Carter stood back and watched the show, returning her seat to its upright position when the writhing in back seemed to settle. She slid into her seat, grimacing until she found a comfortable position for her sore leg. Jack climbed in next to her, his knees ridiculously high up in the small area.

"Teal'c, your hand's on my --" Daniel objected.

"Be still."

"What are you -- hey!"

"Danny darling!"

Jack and Carter exchanged a stunned look, their eyes sliding slowly toward the back of the car, half afraid of what they might see back there. It was hard to turn far enough to see much.

"Uh, something you two want to tell us about?" Jack asked tentatively.

"He is what Major Carter has called a 'knockout.' I believe there is an Earth custom that dictates that since I have uncovered him his is mine to possess."

Heck with the leg! Carter twisted around, kneeling on her seat with her good leg, the injured one semi-straight behind her. Jack wished he could do the same, but he was pinned behind the steering wheel.

"Awwww!"

Jack stared in disbelief as his second's face softened with that annoying just-seen-a-baby look. What the hell were they doing back there? Carter reached out one hand, and it came back holding a small stuffed bird. She held it up for his inspection. "Danny Darling, the Scarlet Starling," she read from its tag. "It's a beanie-baby knock-OFF, Teal'c. Where'd you find it?"

"It was wedged beneath --"

"Just drive, Jack!" Daniel snapped.

Jack caught Teal'c's eye in the rearview mirror and the big man's lip twitched. Those slips of the tongue were no accidents; he was developing a sly sense of humor.

Jack smirked appreciatively. "It's 'Finders Keepers,' Teal'c. So I guess Danny is all yours!"

"Jaaack!"

They emerged from the restaurant, replete with the meal, and relaxed. Daniel froze, then yelled 'Race you for the front seat!' and took off running for the car.

Teal'c chased him, but was unable to make up for the other man's headstart in the length of the parking lot. He inclined his head. "You are victorious." He climbed into the back seat, sitting diagonally as Daniel had initially. Carter started to climb in, careful of her injured leg. Teal'c reached out with strong arms and assisted her in, settling her legs across his lap and supporting her shoulders with one arm. He smiled smugly at Daniel as he snuggled there with Carter practically sitting on his lap.

Jack, too, grinned. Teal'c was certainly making the most of this car.

He slid in behind the wheel, his knee automatically avoiding the keys, and put it into gear. The little car was sluggish under the weight of four large adults and he was reminded of how small it seemed in comparison to his usual truck. No matter, he wasn't as strong as he usually was either. But he would be. So much had been resolved in the past few days. Michaels was neutralized. The dream didn't plague him anymore. The misunderstandings and miscommunications with his team, the medical staff, and even Hammond had been clarified.

He sighed contentedly; he felt like he was finally on the road to recovery now.


End file.
